If I Should Fall
by Liria247
Summary: Brennan returns from an expedition to Nicaragua, but all is not well when she unexpectedly falls ill. Even the strongest of us can crumble. BB.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I wish I did, but I don't own Bones. Or anything else, really. So don't sue me. You would lose money and time, and gain nothing.

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If I Should Fall—Chapter 1

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"Passenger Tony Walker, please report to the lost baggage counter. Tony Walker to lost baggage." The masculine voice echoed through the crowded baggage claim terminal at Washington Dulles International Airport. Several recently arrived flights caused a sudden flood of assorted passengers into the area, making it very difficult even for Seeley Booth to struggle through the crowd.

He craned his neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of his partner through the hullabaloo of rolling wheels, mechanical machinery and the occasional shrieking of air travelers reuniting with loved ones who had come to fetch them and bring them home. Quickly losing patience, Booth had half a mind to call in an order of detainment simply as a way to find his partner a little bit faster so that they could get out of there. He stopped for a moment and squinted around at the electronic monitors that were still flashing updates on arrived and delayed flights. There it was, the 4:17 from Managua, right on time and at baggage claim carousel 4. He turned to start out in the right direction.

As if on cue, Temperance Brennan's face appeared in the sea of people. Her hair was tied up and her face sun-kissed from the time spent in Latin America. Grinning, he made his way through the crowd and to her side and they embraced, her duffel unintentionally smacking him painfully in the back. But he didn't mind—his Bones was back. The two exchanged smiles and a silent agreement that it was too loud to talk at the moment. Booth tried to remover her duffel from her grasp, but she slapped his hand away, giving him a look that clearly said she was capable of carrying her own things. The hiss of the automatic doors opening came with it a rush of cool, fresh air as they crossed the walkway into the parking garage.

"Hey, Bones," Booth said, grinning again. "How was your trip?"

"It was exceptional, although the flight back could have gone more smooth—Booth!" she broke off as, in one swift motion, Booth had succeeded in grabbing her luggage from her and insisting on carrying it himself. "I am perfectly capable of doing that myself," she said indignantly.

"What, isn't a guy allowed to be a gentleman anymore?"

"Fine, then. Just be careful, there are some very valuable artifacts in there that need to be transported to the Jeffersonian." They traversed the parking garage, Brennan's heels clicking importantly on the pavement.

"Oh, good," Booth said sarcastically, almost wishing that he hadn't volunteered to carry the bag in the first place. "How many human skulls did you bring me from this trip?"

"Two, neither of which are for you," she said. "But I did bring you something, though not anything ossified. If you had wanted something bone, you should have told me before."

"No, no, that's perfectly ok." They approached Booth's car and the electronic chirp indicated that the doors had unlocked. Booth opened the trunk and placed Brennan's luggage into the car before closing the back door and climbing into the front seat with her.

"So what did you bring me?" Booth had a boyish grin playing across his face and Brennan couldn't help but smile back.

"I'll show you when you aren't driving," she told him, fastening her seatbelt.

"So," he said about ten minutes into the drive. "What exactly did you do in Nicaragua, again?"

"There was a terrible fire in the public garbage dump there, which was propagated further by a number of small explosions caused by the ignition of the escaping methane from the trash heaps. It was terrible, really. A number of bodies of adults and children, even two infants. I was there identifying them," she explained, turning in her seat to look at him.

"People _live_ in the garbage dump?"

"Well, yes, about 200 families and at least 1,000 more people who commute to work there."

"How do they work there, I mean, what do they do?"

"In Nicaragua, there is no public recycling system. These people, the ones who work in the dumps, collect recyclables and other trinkets that they can salvage and they sell them. Anthropologically, these people cannot find other work. Not even the poorest of the poor want to live near them, a symbol of one of the most extreme types of societal marginalization I have ever come across."

"Wow," Booth said, shaking his head a little and adjusting his sunglasses. "I almost wish that I had never asked."

"Why?" she shot back indignantly. "You see, and Americans question why people from other countries see them as ignorant. It's important for all of us to be aware—"

"Ok, ok, I'm sorry." The car came to a stop at a red traffic light and he looked overtop of his sunglasses at her. "I apologize." There was a brief pause. "Are you hungry at all?" She smiled at him.

"I could go for something to eat. Airline food doesn't usually agree with me."

"Excellent, because I'm starving. Want to go to the diner?"

"You read my mind," Brennan told him with a smile. He laughed and tore his eyes away from hers as the light turned green and he had to pay attention to driving again.

"You're getting really good at speaking metaphorically."

"I know."

* * *

The bells on the door jingled as the two of them walked into the Royal Diner. The waitress smiled at two of her regular customers and gestured at them to choose a table.

"I'll be right over with menus for you both," she said cheerfully. Booth and Brennan nodded in her direction and headed for their usual table by the windows. The waitress returned with coffee just as Brennan was setting her bag down at her feet.

"Thank you, Ruby," Booth said gratefully, taking a sip from the steaming mug.

"You're welcome, Agent Booth. You two just let me know when you're ready to order."

"Thanks," the two of them said, the waitress turning her back to leave.

"So," Booth began, leaning toward her playfully, "You said that you brought something back for me?'

"Oh, yes," Brennan said enthusiastically. "Hold on a second, it's right—"she dug around for a while in her bag, "here." She pulled out a package carefully wrapped in brown paper and tied with string and presented it to Booth.

"Thank you," he said, his face lighting up like a kid on Christmas. Carefully, he untied the string and pulled off the paper. Brennan sat across the table, biting her lip lightly, trying to scrutinize his reaction.

"What do you think?" she asked slowly, unsure of what he'd think.

"It's—wow, Bones. This is beautiful." He looked at her deeply. "Where did you get this?" He moved his eyes from hers, mesmerized by the 8 ½ x 11 photograph beneath the glass frame.

It was a beautiful shot, capturing the shimmering blue Lake Managua and the towering, green mountains that rose up above it. The rising sun was just peeking between two mountain peaks, pure rays of morning light captured in every peak and valley in the photograph and reflecting mysteriously off of the silver morning mist that hung between the mountains and the lakeshore. The scene had a tranquil, mysterious beauty that moved him.

"I, um, I took it, actually," she said, looking quickly down at her coffee cup and then back up at her partner. "It was the most beautiful and enchanting part of the day there, and I was enraptured just looking at it. I thought of you, actually. I thought that you were one of the only people who would truly appreciate it. I wanted you to see it. Of course, nothing can replace being there in person, but—"

"Bones," Booth said, lifting his eyes to meet hers. "Thank you. It's beautiful." Her blue eyes hesitated a bit, then she smiled at him. It was one of those soul-searching smiles, the ones that the two of them often shared, where just by looking into the other's eyes each could see the emotions of the other. That realization of closeness between them had scared Brennan at first, but she had over the years had taken comfort in that Booth often knew what she was feeling without having to ask.

"You're welcome." A throat clearing made both of them look up. Their usual waitress was looking down at them, pen and order pad in hand.

"What'll it be today?" She asked.

Twenty minutes later, both were munching on their lunches and looking at other photographs from Nicaragua on Brennan's digital camera. There were so many, especially of the dump in which she worked. It was a terribly unimaginable scene, and the photographs of the despair far outnumbered the ones that highlighted Nicaragua's natural beauty. And scrolling through them, it took Booth to the end to realize that most of the photographs had been taken in—

"—Black and white, I know," Brennan said, taking a sip of coffee. "The destruction down there was so terrible that I had trouble taking the photographs in color." Their eyes met again, and she held his gaze. She allowed his eyes to search hers.

"I had no idea that you were such an artist," he said, a corner of his mouth twitching upward.

"I'm serious, Booth. If you had been there—" she trailed off, dropping her gaze back to the smooth surface of her coffee. As she did, she noticed a dull pain tugging at her head. Great time for a headache, she thought, but said nothing.

"Hey, Bones," he said, tipping her chin up to meet her eyes. "I've seen my share of death and dehumanization. Trust me when I say that I get it." Brennan nodded.

"I do," she said. "Trust you, I mean." For whatever reason, her headache was getting worse. She again looked away from her partner in order to dig through her bag and retrieve a bottle of ibuprofen. Using her coffee (admittedly not the best idea), she swallowed two of the tablets.

"Hey, I hope you brought enough for the rest of the class."

"What class?"

"Never mind, Bones, it's an expression. What's with the drugs?"

"Just ibuprofen," she said, tucking the bottle back into her bag, along with her camera, which Booth had handed to her. "I have a little bit of a headache, probably just dehydration from the plane. It's nothing to worry about."

"You sure you're ok?"

"Fine," she nodded. "I probably just need to lie down and rehydrate myself, I'll be fine." She smiled. He read the expression in her face.

"Ok, then, I'm sick of this scenery… let's take care of the check and get out of here." Brennan nodded, grateful.

The gentle motion of the SUV lulled Brennan to sleep. Pulling out front of her apartment building, Booth cut the engine and looked over at his partner, fast asleep with her head against the window. It had been a long trip and she was clearly exhausted. She looked so peaceful, he didn't want to wake her. But good judgment trumped. He leaned over and gently put his hand on her shoulder. She didn't flinch, but it was enough to rouse her from her slumber.

"Bones, hey," he said softly, caressing her shoulder with his thumb. "We're here."

"Where?" She asked quietly without opening her eyes.

"Back at your place. Do you need any help with your luggage?" Brennan opened her eyes and sat up straight, undoing her seatbelt with a click.

"No, I'll be fine on my own." She opened the door. Her head was still pounding. She shook it off, knowing that it was probably the lack of water and sleep catching up to her. She unloaded her duffel bags from the backseat of Booth's SUV and hoisted one onto her shoulder. Looking down for the second, she saw that it had disappeared.

"I've got it," Booth said with a smile. "You're tired." She opened her mouth in protest but shut it again, glad that he had volunteered.

"Thanks."

The door swung open and Brennan found that her apartment was exactly how she had left it. Both of them stepped inside the doorway, Brennan removing her jacket and dropping her bags near the door. Booth set the bag he was carrying down with the rest of her things as Brennan took a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with water.

"Would you like anything to drink at all?" She asked him, "If you have time, you can stay a minute and have a beer. I didn't get the chance to ask you how your week was." Booth smiled placidly, about to accept her offer when Brennan let out a massive yawn. He chuckled.

"You know what? You're tired. Go get some rest, Bones. I mean, I could stay here but uh, you don't have a TV or anything and I don't mean any offense but _An Anthology of Bedrodiga Religious Icons _doesn't sound like the most stimulating read. I'm just going to head back to my place. How's that headache, by the way?"

"It's still persisting," she said, shrugging. "It should clear up with some sleep and adequate hydration."

"Ok," Booth said, nodding in satisfaction. "I guess I'll see you at work tomorrow? You know, I wish you'd schedule your work trips so that you have time to recuperate before you go back to your day job."

"Yes, I'll be in. I'll see you then. Thanks again for everything, Booth." Their eyes met and they shared a smile.

"You're welcome. It was my pleasure. Night, Bones."

"Night," she said. Their eyes lingered on one another's a moment longer, then Booth turned and stepped through the doorway, Brennan closing the door and locking it behind him. She checked the clock. It was hardly 8:00, but she felt exhausted. Leaving her bags where they were and finishing her glass of water, Brennan changed into a set of pajamas and quickly brushed her teeth before crawling into her bed, wishing her head would stop throbbing.

* * *

"Welcome back, Dr. Brennan," her assistant Zack Addy greeted her as her card access beeped and Brennan traversed the stairs to where the latest set of bones from Limbo was waiting to be identified.

"Thank you, Zack. What do we have here?" The fluorescent lights shone brightly, reflecting off of the stainless steel examining table and giving the aged bones that sat on it a pearlescent look.

"Male, 32-39, splintering rostral to the squamous suture indicates blunt trauma by an object between 10 and 12 centimeters in diameter. Angela's working on the facial reconstruction now. How was Nicaragua?"

"It was a good trip, is Hodgins working on identifying any extraneous particulates left in the wound?"

"Yes."

"Good," Brennan said, nodding to herself. "Zack, come and get me when you have finished there and when Angela has done the facial reconstruction. Then we'll be able to begin identifying this victim.

"Ok, Dr. Brennan."

"I'll be in my office." Brennan turned on the ball of her foot and left the area, her heels clicking smartly on the polished floor of the Jeffersonian's Medico-Legal lab. Though she had slept a good amount the night before, her pounding headache warranted an additional 600 milligrams of ibuprofen when she had woken up the next morning, and it hadn't seemed to help at all. She reached her office, closing the door behind her and making her way over to her desk. She sat down and buried her head in her hands, willing against logic for the damned headache to go away so that she could get back to work.

She didn't really know how long she was sitting like that, but before long she became aware of footsteps quickly approaching. The door opened and she soon felt a hand resting softly on her shoulder.

"Sweetie, are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, Ang," she said, lifting her head and swiveling her chair to look her friend in the eye.

"You are lying to me. You can't do that anymore, Brennan. I know you too well. Seriously, what's up?"

"Headache, that's all. Are you finished with the reconstruction?" Angela nodded.

"Yeah, Zack said to come and find you."

"Well, let's see it then." Brennan put her hands on the arms of her chair and used them to stabilize her as she stood, walking alongside of Angela to the imaging room, where Zack and Hodgins stood waiting.

"Hey, how was your trip?" Hodgins asked, grinning.

"Fascinating, I had a wonderful time," she said, smiling at him.

"Coolest part?"

"The mountains were breathtakingly beautiful. But we aren't here to talk about my vacation. What do we have, Angela?" Angela scratched away on her digital notepad, pulling up the holographic image of a man.

"Bring us back anything?"

"No," Brennan said, staring at the image.

"Ok, here's our victim," Angela said. "By the look of the skull, Zack and I think that he was hit on the side of the head with a sledgehammer."

"The blunt end of the hammer struck at approximately 35o to the normal at the weakest part of the temporal bone, shattering it," Zack said, "but it wasn't what killed him."

"Then what did?" she asked, her head still pounding incessantly.

"From the damage on C-4, it appears as though he was strangled, but strangling alone doesn't acc—" Her mind began to fog over and she wasn't able to grasp the last part of what Zack was saying.

Not entirely paying attention to Zack, Angela was gripped with panic as she watched her best friend crumple silently to the floor.

"Brennan!" the urgency in her voice caused Hodgins and Zack to turn in her direction, but Angela was already rushing to her friend's side. Brennan was pale, mouth slightly agape as she lay, unconscious, on the floor in a disorganized heap that was so unlike her.

"Dr. Brennan!" Zack exclaimed in disbelief.

"I'll call a medic," Hodgins said, panicked, as he rushed out of the room. The holographic image of their murder victim still rotating slowly at the center of the Angelator. Zack, too, knelt at his mentor's side.

"She's ashen, bradycardic," he began, "But Angela, I don't know what's wrong…"

"Sweetie, sweetie, come on," Angela begged, sweeping the hair out of Brennan's face. "Please."

* * *

And that's all she wrote. For now.

I like reviews. Criticism is welcome, too 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I wish I did, but I don't own Bones. Or anything else, really. So don't sue me. You would lose money and time, and gain nothing.

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If I Should Fall—Chapter 2

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"Why am I in the hospital?"

"Sweetie, for the last time, you collapsed onto the floor while we were working on a case. You were unconscious, pale, and your heart rate was way slow. Bringing you here was a good idea. Here, just drink the water." Angela nudged the plastic cup of water closer to Brennan, who nodded with understanding.

"Alright, alright." She picked up the glass and took a sip thoughtfully. "On the bright side, my head isn't bothering me so much anymore." She looked around the sectioned ER of Washington Memorial Hospital. In the next bed was a young man recovering from alcohol poisoning, unconscious. The curtain was drawn around the bed on her other side, though the steadily beeping monitor indicated that whoever occupied it was at least in stable condition. Brennan, her bed adjusted to a sitting position, lay her head back on the pillow and exhaled softly.

"That may be the drugs, actually," Angela said with a smirk.

"They gave me drugs?"

"Just a high dose of Tylenol. No narcs, I promise."

"Do you know when I'll be able to speak to the doctor who treated me?" Angela shook her head.

"Not exactly, sweetie, I know that they are still waiting on some test results. They gave you a CAT scan and did a little bit of bloodwork. They said that your symptoms weren't adding up. I know—"she said as Brennan opened her mouth in protest. "—that you said you just had a headache. But then how do you explain the low heart rate?"

"Dehydration," came the quick response. "An imbalance of water in the system leads to low blood volume, which in turn causes low blood pressure and bradycardia. The clamminess could simply have been a neurotic reaction of some sort to the head pain. See? No CAT scan necessary."

"Ok, now you're just being snobby," Angela said with laughter in her voice. "Let's just wait to see what the doctors say when they come back with the test results, alright?"

"I don't seem to have a choice," Brennan grumbled, finishing off the water in her cup. She set down the empty cup and sighed lightly. "So did you by any chance bring the paperwork for the set of remains in Limbo that we were working on before I collapsed?"

"Of course not!" Angela said, half snorting with laughter at the ridiculousness of it. "Sweetie, you're my best friend, and you crumpled to the floor. Your breathing was shallow, your heart rate was slow. I was not thinking about the case." The corners of Brennan's lips curled up into a small smile. She was grateful for that, she thought to herself, grateful that she had a friend who cared so much about her.

"Thanks, Ang," she said. "Although it would be nice to have something productive to do right now. I really hate just sitting here when there is so much work to do at the lab."

"I know that this is driving you nuts, but seriously, just hold tight. I'll entertain you," she said playfully, half-joking.

"Hey now, it looks like I picked the right moment to walk into the conversation," Hodgins said, appearing from around the corner. "Just in time for the striptease."

"Interesting leap from 'entertainment' to 'striptease,' Jack," Angela retorted.

"Hey, I just came by to say that Booth is on his way. He was not happy when he found out you'd landed yourself here, Dr. Brennan." Brennan rolled her eyes.

"Of course he wasn't happy," Angela said with a smirk. "His friend is in the hospital." Angela and Jack shared a quick, meaningful glance, which went right over Brennan's head.

"Oh, come on," Brennan exclaimed. "He can't just drop everything because he thinks I might be hurt! I don't need to be rescued! I am fine," she said resolutely. "I'm fine."

"Ms. Brennan?" A young female doctor, perhaps 30 years of age, with a round chin and short, curly brown hair, stepped around the curtain, carrying a large medical file.

"Doctor," the three of them automatically corrected. The young doctor looked slightly taken aback and a little confused.

"Yes?" she asked slowly, her eyebrow raised in inquisition. Brennan shook her head.

"No, it's Doctor Brennan," she said. "I have a doctorate in forensic anthropology." The young doctor gave a slow nod of understanding.

"My apologies, Dr. Brennan," she said. "Could I speak with you alone for a moment?"

"Yes, of course." Angela looked as though she were about to protest, but Hodgins gently placed his hand on her shoulder, guiding her silently out of the room. Angela threw a worried glance at her best friend, who gave her a reassuring nod. After the two of them had left, the female doctor approached her bedside, taking the seat that had moments ago been occupied by Angela.

"I have the results of your scan," she said.

"I had deduced as much," Brennan told her with a brief nod. "And psychology really isn't my thing, but I am going to make the intuitive leap that based on your tone and carriage, there is something on the scan to discuss."

"Yes," she said slowly. "There is. Dr. Brennan, we detected a mass. It is a small one, only the size of a small cherry, but it is there. We think that it may be the cause of the headaches that you have been having for the last day or so."

"Where?"

"At the base of your skull, within the cisterna magna." Brennan nodded. The cisterna magna was part of the system that the brain uses to control intracranial pressure by regulating the flow of cerebrospinal fluid. "The theory is that the tumor, for whatever reason, was triggered to move, and the movement somehow stoppered the flow of CSF, raising the pressure in your head. It probably caused a killer headache." Brennan nodded. That was certainly true.

"Is it cancerous?" The doctor bit her bottom lip lightly, an anthropological sign of nervousness and discomfort.

"We don't know at this point. But I will be honest with you, this mass does look malignant. We won't know for sure until we do a biopsy." Brennan nodded in understanding yet again. That simple gesture seemed all she was capable of at the moment; she knew that brain biopsies of any sort were extremely dangerous.

"Has a biopsy been scheduled? I would like to do that as soon as possible."

"Of course. We have a doctor up in Neurology who has agreed to squeeze you in shortly. Is that too soon?"

"No, of course not," Brennan said matter-of-factly. "The sooner this is over with, the better." The young doctor smiled.

"Excellent. I'll call Dr. Laskey and let him know. You'll be prepped for the biopsy in no time." Brennan gave a kind half-smile out of courtesy.

"Thank you," she said. "Really." She shook hands with the doctor, who stood and turned to leave. Just before rounding the curtain and disappearing from sight, she turned back and met Brennan's eyes.

"Would you like me to send your family back in?" Brennan was struck by the word choice. Family. Booth had been right. She gave a small smile, but shook her head.

"I just need a moment."

"Alright," the doctor said with understanding. "Just buzz for a nurse if you need anything." She rounded the corner, short white coat just barely billowing out behind her, and disappeared from sight.

Leaving Brennan alone. Alone in the crowded emergency room for an uncertain amount of time. She closed her eyes and leaned back into the starched white pillow. She exhaled softly, slowly. Around her was a quiet cacophony of sound as the monitors of the numerous patients, hidden by pale blue cotton curtains, sounded out softly in different frequencies. No, she reminded herself, the frequencies weren't really different, that auditory illusion was the product of the Doppler effect…

Her mind was brought back to reality painfully. They had found a mass. She was blocking off her emotion, though, the rational part of her knowing that there was no point in panicking, worrying her friends, not until all of the results were definitive. More could be done once the results of the biopsy had come back. In the meantime, all she could do was wait.

She had always been an introvert. She was more or less trained that way since she had been 15 years old, as people whom she cared about, who cared about her, popped into and out of her life. All her life she had dealt with problems more or less independently of anybody else. And that was how she planned on handling this one for now. She knew that Angela and Hodgins and maybe even Zack and Cam were sitting in the waiting room, wondering; Angela would be wringing her hands or have her head resting on Hodgins' shoulder, Hodgins with his arm around her shoulders for comfort. Zack staring at the wall. Cam sipping a cup of coffee, pretending to read a magazine.

And Booth… Booth…

She didn't know where he was, but if past trends were any indication, he would come through the doors of the ER, rush in, straight to whoever was in charge, and demand to know where she was. Cam would have to calmly talk him out of doing anything irrational, to quell the typical alpha-male tendencies that irritated Brennan so much, and he would eventually succumb, sitting in a cold chair with the rest of them, coffee growing cold in his hands, waiting.

But at this moment, as her eyes remained closed and her mind began to calm, she felt a chilled wave of apathy wash over her, steeling her mind against emotion. And lulled by the sounds of her surroundings, she let sleep envelop her.

When she awoke, she was in a groggy haze. Her heartbeat was dully pounding in her head, but that was all she felt. No pain; they must still have her on painkillers. Listening carefully, the sounds of her monitors were the only sounds in the room. Cautiously, she opened her eyes.

She had been moved to a private room, and the sunlight streaming in told her that it was probably late afternoon. Sure enough, the digital clock on the wall near the television on the opposite end of the room blinked 4:36pm. The room was painted a pale, lifeless shade of cream, and heavy light-blue curtains hung from the windows. The floor was simple white linoleum whose once-shiny surface had lost its luster to years of constant motion of shoes and hospital bed wheels. There was a small countertop with a sink near the door, with a window that viewed the hallway occupied with nurses clad in blue scrubs bustling about. The door to her room was propped open.

Two simple cushioned chairs sat at her bedside. Both were empty. It was logical, she knew. The close of the workday was a busy time, surely Angela, Zack, Cam and Jack had returned to the lab. And Booth was still at work, no doubt, probably buried in paperwork from their last completed case. She knew she shouldn't have expected anyone to be there, holding her hand. After all, she had insisted that she was a grown woman and could take care of herself. And yet she was surprised to find her blue eyes beginning to grow moist with tears.

A quick rap on the doorframe jolted her eyes to the door. A round-faced, gray-haired nurse came in wearing a smile.

"Well, I'm glad to see that you're awake." She took a few steps into the room and began to wash her hands at the sink. Brennan took the opportunity to fully dry her eyes. "My name is Sheila. I am the day nurse who has been looking after you."

"I thought that the brain biopsy was an outpatient procedure," Brennan blurted out, more a demand for answers than a polite inquiry.

"It is, dear," the kind nurse replied, quickly drying her hands and crossing the room to examine the monitors. Her clean white sneakers squeaked softly as she walked. "The outpatient ward was full. They had to squeeze you in, remember? You came up here because it's an empty space." The nurse was now busy flipping through a file that she'd extracted from a space at the end of Brennan's bed.

"I'll still be able to go home today, right?" The nurse, Sheila, was scratching a pen over the chart, updating the readings of the monitors.

"Of course. I would rather you waited until you get the results of that biopsy back, but you are free to leave. Do you have someone to take you home?" Brennan's heart fell. No, because all of her friends were still at work. Not with her. No, she reminded herself, there is nothing to be gained by their presence here. They should be working, continuing their lives.

"I have people that I can call when the work day is over," she reassured the nurse, who smiled.

"Excellent. Well, it looks as though you will be spending supper with us. I know hospital food is not reputed to be the best, but I'll leave you with a menu and you can pick out something to eat before I can get Dr. Laskey to come down and give you details about the results of your biopsy."

"Dr. Laskey was the surgeon?"

"Yes. I'm sure you must be a little hazy on the details, that's ok. He's a very tall and has blond hair if you're watching out for him." Brennan smiled politely and nodded, taking the pen and paper dinner menu from Sheila.

"Thank you, Sheila. Please let me know when you have an approximate time frame for his arrival. I have several questions for him anyway."

"Of course, Dr. Brennan," she said kindly, signing the completed medical update with a flourish and turning to leave the room. She lingered a moment at the doorway. "Oh, and I wanted to let you know that I absolutely love your books. It's my favorite series!" Brennan laughed.

"Thank you very much, I am glad that you enjoy them."

It wasn't long after that when Dr. Noah Laskey walked through the door. He was tall and lanky, in his late 30s, with a head of neat, curly blond hair. His long white coat billowed behind him as he came through the door. What Brennan presumed to be a surgical cap stuck out from one of his coat pockets. The doctor seemed at ease as he greeted her and introduced himself cheerfully, pulling the bedside chair around and sitting in it backwards.

"How are you feeling, Temperance?" he asked with a smile.

"Fine, actually. Still a little bit of a headache, but under the circumstances, I'm not too concerned." The doctor nodded his approval. Brennan calmly folded her hands over her blankets and sat a little straighter.

"Sounds good, then. Well, the biopsy went very smoothly. We did have to shave a small patch of hair at the base of your neck, so you may want to switch to low ponytails for a while as the hair grows back."

"Is the pathology report back, then?" Brennan asked, her stomach jittery with nerves. It was irrational, she told herself, but her body potentiated the reaction regardless.

The report was back. He had put a rush on it, which hadn't been necessary. The lab would have flagged it anyway. It was malignant. He told her calmly, evenly, without emotion. Choroid plexus papilloma. Probably had been there for several years. And they needed to discuss their options.

"Is it operable?" was her first question. She looked straight at the doctor, making eye contact, unfazed. He nodded confidently.

"Stick with me, and you'll be in good hands, Temperance," he told her. "I believe so. It won't be easy, and it definitely will not be without risk, but I think that with a lot of skill and a little bit of luck, we'll be able to get this thing out."

"I don't believe in luck," she said quickly. Dr. Laskey chuckled.

"Then a lot of skill, then," he said. "I would recommend scheduling the surgery as soon as possible. It isn't posing an immediate threat to your health, with the exception of the headaches. Go ahead and get that tumor taken care of, then take a couple of weeks off for sick time to recover. As for the long run, I think that with your condition I would recommend chemotherapy rather than radiation therapy. If the cancer has spread, the chemo will be more likely to eradicate the malignant cells. We can do that in a few successive weekends worth of treatment, but we can talk about those details some other time if you would like." But Brennan shook her head, wanting to make sure that all of those details were clear to her, and she wanted to be able to ask questions sooner rather than later.

And so they talked, for almost half an hour more. As they were talking, the sandwich and fruit she had asked for arrived, but she had lost her appetite, picking quietly at the food as the doctor gave her as much detail as he could. She was cleared to leave soon, and she wanted badly to go that she nearly forgot to schedule the necessary appointments. She stood at the nurse's desk with her bag in hand, dressed normally again, and scheduled another CT, and an MRI. Finally, the surgery, the weekend after next.

"Is someone here to pick you up, or would you like me to call you a cab?" the kind-faced nurse asked her, handing her appointment confirmation cards.

"A cab would be great, thank you."

* * *

So she tucked her cards into her bag and picked up the cab back to the Jeffersonian. She had left some things there and wanted to pick them up. She knew that she could have called Booth or Angela and they would have picked her up in a heartbeat, but she didn't want to be an unnecessary burden to them. Brennan rode the cab, which smelled strongly of curry, back to the lab, paid the driver, and made her way to the back entrance of the Medico-legal lab.

The lab was still lit, a few lone scientists still stood hard at work at their respective stations. It appeared that her team had left, though. Hodgins' computer was dark, and Zack's work station devoid of its usual cleaning instruments and fragmented skeletal remains. Even Cam's office was dark. She was a little disappointed at the lack of enthusiasm, but it was fair that they want to leave at the end of the work day, especially since the lack of a case was leaving excitement a little low recently.

The lights in her office, too, had been turned off. All except for her desk lamp. It must have been forgotten, she thought, pushing open the glass door and tossing her bag onto the couch.

"Hey, watch where you're throwing your stuff. That could really hurt a guy." Brennan whipped around, though she already knew the source of the sound.

"Ok, Booth, that's creepy." Through the semi-darkness she could see a partial smile illuminated on his face.

"What? I just came by after work to see how you were doing."

"Regardless of your intentions, I don't always appreciate unexpected visitors looming in the half-light of my office alone." She flicked on the lights and turned off the lamp on her desk. Booth sat on the couch in his shirt and tie, the top button undone and tie loosened after the long work day. His warm brown eyes were inviting as ever as he smiled, glad to see her. She rolled her eyes, still slightly shaken and irritated by the unwelcome surprise, and crossed the room to sit on the couch, tucking her legs underneath her.

"Hey, I'm sorry to startle you," he said. "Hear you had a busy day."

"It was hardly productive," she retorted, examining the spot on her finger where her pulse ox monitor had been attached. There was still a bit of sticky residue from the tape. She absentmindedly tried to remove it. Booth chuckled.

"Didn't say productive, did I?" His tone changed, suddenly sounding upset. "I'm so sorry that I wasn't there sooner. Angela called me right away, but for whatever reason I didn't get the missed call until just after I left work. I called the hospital, but I must have just missed you. Listen, Bones," the look on his face showed genuine remorse and his eyes were silently pleading forgiveness. "I'm really sorry."

"You don't have anything to apologize for," she said, shrugging. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"Stuff like this isn't always about being able to take care of yourself. I know that you are more than capable of dealing with anything that life throws at you. Stuff like this, I wanted to be there for you, you know? Did you ever just want to be there, just to show someone that you cared?" Brennan thought about it for a moment. She couldn't really think of anything.

"No," she said simply. "I guess I just never saw the point if I couldn't do something to fix it."

"But," Booth said, looking at her deeply, searching her eyes. "Isn't that why you go to the funeral of every person that you help lay to rest?" Now that he said it, it was true. Every word of it, and she knew it. She shrugged and a smile crossed his lips.

"I guess I can understand that," she said slowly, nodding. She hated it most of the time when his eyes searched hers. He read people so well, she felt vulnerable, as though he could see parts of her soul that she had know way of knowing for herself. It made her terribly anxious and uncomfortable, but at the same time, she couldn't break the gaze. On some level, she knew, she gained comfort from his insight. A silence hung between them for several moments. It was a comfortable silence, but it was broken by Booth clearing his throat.

He opened his mouth, starting to ask about her hospital visit, but closed it again. If she hadn't brought it up, he thought, she probably didn't want to talk about it. All in due time; if it was important, she'd tell him when she was ready. If not, then they could just go back to being Booth and Bones, and that was how he liked it.

"So why are you here, Booth?"

"It's been a long day for you. I thought we could grab dinner if you were hungry." She tilted her head a little to the side, eyes flicking somewhere in the distance, one eyebrow slightly raised as she did when she was considering something. She smiled at him, nodding slowly.

"Yeah," she said, "I could eat."

"Great," he said, picking up her bag and handing her the jacket that she had tossed onto his lap accidentally when she had first come into the room. "Wong Foo's it is."

"You read my mind," she said. "Does Sid still make that Mee Krab? It was amazing." They left her office, she flipped off the light switch and locked the door behind her. Booth swung her duffel over his shoulder, walking alongside her as they made their way out of the Jeffersonian.

"Doesn't matter," he said seriously. "Sid will bring you exactly what you want. Maybe something better than Mee Krab." She laughed for the first time that day at the expression on her partner's face. Booth smiled at the sound. "See, there you go," he said, "I love it when you laugh."

"Why?" she asked, bemused. "It's just a reflex, developing over time in response to certain humorous stimuli. Nothing special." He just looked at her for a moment, his eyes twinkling.

"Maybe not for you, Bones. But for me? That laugh means that you are enjoying life a little more than you did yesterday, truly living it. And I like knowing that I can help you to do that."

"That's psychology. I hate psychology," she said quickly. He chuckled, put his free arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze.

"Aw, Bones, see?" he smiled. "This is why I've missed you."

And they left the lab, with Booth content in keeping his arm draped softly over his partner's shoulders, and Brennan silently wondering what exactly that reason was.

* * *

And that's all she wrote. For now.

Please review and let me know how you like it!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I wish I did, but I don't own Bones. Or anything else, really. So don't sue me. You would lose money and time, and gain nothing.

* * *

If I Should Fall—Chapter 3

* * *

After their shared supper, Booth had dropped Brennan off at the Jeffersonian again so that she could pick up her car. They parted with nothing more or less than an exchanged smile and valedictations that they would see each other at the dawn of the next case. Booth had, to her annoyance, insisted on pulling away and driving into the night only after he knew that she was safely in her vehicle. She rolled her eyes at the ludicrousness of his thinking that she couldn't manage to get into her own car on her own before starting the ignition and driving back to her apartment.

She hadn't told Booth about her hospital visit. All that he knew were the basics: that she had been there and that the tests took longer than expected. As far as he and the rest of her lab team knew, it was nothing more than dehydration and fatigue from her recent vacation. She was grateful for Booth failing to interrogate her about any of the details. He was too good at reading people to be fooled by her assertions that she was completely well. Because, according to the specialists, she wasn't.

It was strange, to feel completely fine one day and the next, to be told that you had a tumor. That it was seated at the base of the brain, malignant, growing. That it would require a dangerous surgery and extensive radiation treatments.

She gave a gentle sigh. She was a brain person, not a heart person. Rationally, there was no purpose in worrying or becoming irrational and emotional over something that she had absolutely no control over the outcome. And that was the approach that she decided to take with it until her definitive MRI and definitive consultation with her neurosurgeon, Dr. Laskey, that weekend.

At work for the next week, she fielded a constant barrage of pestering questions from Angela as well as a couple from Cam. To each of them, she responded that she was fine and wanted to work. The lack of any interesting FBI cases made it a slow week, seeming to drag on with her anticipation of the weekend. She knew that it was illogical to think that any 24-hour period could be longer or shorter than any other 24-hour period, but more than once she caught herself having hallucinations of the second hand on the clock moving at an extraordinarily slow pace.

Finally, Friday afternoon arrived to find Brennan in her office, finishing up the identification report of an unknown army field nurse from World War Two, Mary Louise Hutchinson, 23, killed by flying shrapnel through the jugular. She smiled, taking immense satisfaction in knowing that this young woman's dedication could be recognized and finally laid to rest. Just as she was signing and dating the report, a sharp rapping at her door made her look up sharply to see Angela at the doorway.

"Hey Sweetie, can I come in?"

"I see no obvious barriers preventing you from doing so," she said, tucking the report in its proper manila folder and shifting it to another side of her desk. "What's up?"

"Seriously, Bren, what is going on?" she asked seriously, plopping down in the chair facing her friend and crossing her legs. "You have been completely immersed in your work all week. You haven't talked to Booth at all—"

"How could you possibly know that? We haven't had a case all week," Brennan interrupted.

"—and you still haven't told us about the rest of your hospital visit," Angela said, giving her a very no-nonsense look. Brennan shrugged, not quite making eye contact.

"What's there to tell?"

"Oh, come on," Angela said in an exasperated tone. "Something is up, or first of all, you would have been released from the hospital sooner, or, second of all, you wouldn't be so subdued at work. If there is nothing to tell, prove it." It was a challenge. Brennan's eyes narrowed.

"Ange, it's really none of your business. And I've told you several times, I'm fine."

"Okay, I've known you long enough to know that's bull."

"Bull?"

"Never mind," Angela said quickly, waving her hand impatiently in the air. "Bottom line? I'm concerned about you, sweetie. Please, as your best friend, please tell me what is going on. Let me be your best friend."

Brennan didn't like the inflection of pleading in her friend's voice at all. Angela clearly knew that something was up. She sighed. "Nothing is definitive yet, Ange, and I promise that when I know for sure what is going on, I will confide in you."

"They still have to do more testing? Bren, how serious is this thing?"

"I don't know," she said honestly. Angela gave an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes. Brennan laughed a little in disbelief. "Seriously, Angela, I don't. The doctors aren't sure. I'm going in again tomorrow morning—"

"Going where?" Angela asked. "And for what?" She looked at her friend, willing her eyes to reveal something. And something inside of Brennan broke down. She took a short, quiet breath.

"My headaches? The X-rays revealed a mass back in the posterior cisterna magna… they aren't sure yet. I had to stay later at the hospital because I wanted to get a tissue biopsy as soon as possible to help with characterization, but brain biopsies are very dangerous and they wanted to take all of the necessary precautions."

"You have a brain tumor?" Angela said, not believing what she was hearing. Her best friend, Dr. Temperance Brennan, who was nothing short of an anthropological powerhouse and bestselling writer to boot, one of the strongest women she knew, had a tumor. It was unreal to her.

"In the vernacular, yes." Brennan laced her fingers together nervously and placed her hands, folded, onto her desk. She saw Angela's eyes, disbelieving, still reeling with the information that she herself had not quite been able to process. Of course, she had processed it fully intellectually, examining every facet of every detail, but emotionally? That was an area that she didn't overtly want to explore.

"Sweetie…" Angela's voice trailed off. For once, she didn't know what to say. After a few moments of silence, Brennan spoke again, unsure of what else to do than to fill Angela in on some of the details.

"I am going in to the hospital for an MRI tomorrow. They will determine specifics on the location of the papilloma and take steps to prepare for its extraction." Angela rested her face in her hands, eyes widened slightly in disbelief.

"Surgery?"

"Well, yes," Brennan said matter-of-factly. "If it is operable. And after that, a few weeks of chemotherapy and, albeit a bit of hair loss, I will be back to normal." Angela let out a small gasp of incredulity. The words were so difficult to hear, and it bothered her a little bit that Brennan was talking about it all like it was just another case. And in some regard, it was, and Angela knew that it was her friend's way of distancing herself.

But eventually, she would have to come to terms with her illness. And when she did, Angela wanted her friend to know that she would be there for her, no matter what. She stretched an arm out, reaching for Brennan's hang, which she took into her own and gave a reassuring squeeze. Brennan let out a nervous laugh.

"I'm fine, Ang," she said confidently, as though declaring age or sex of a set of skeletal remains. She squeezed Angela's hand back and gave her what she thought was a small, comforting smile. "Really. And if I need anything—"

"You can always come to me," Angela told her, nodding. They sat like that for a moment. "Who else knows?"

"Nobody." Which came as a bit of a surprise to Angela.

"Not even Booth?" Brennan shook her head.

"I haven't really gotten a chance to tell him. We haven't talked in a while."

"True, and this sort of thing isn't exactly shop talk."

"I don't know what that means, but I haven't told Booth because I don't want him to do anything irrational or extreme out of worry. And you know that he will. It's those explicit alpha male tendencies."

"True," Angela nodded. "But, sweetie, he's going to find out eventually. And when he does, he will be angry that you didn't tell him in the first place."

"Why would I? I don't have to tell him everything, this is—" Brennan's voice broke and she grew quiet for a moment. "—this is very personal." Angela nodded.

"I know, Bren, I know," she released her friend's hand. "Thank you for telling me. I'm very glad to know that you trust me enough not to keep me in the dark about something like this." A flicker of something in Angela's voice triggered the cogs in Brennan's brain.

"That's not fair."

"What?"

"Using the trust thing as negative leverage against me not telling Booth."

"I never said that. If that's the conclusion that you draw, though, maybe it's a subconscious hint to yourself that you need to tell your partner what is going on in your life."

"Ugh," Brennan groaned. "That's psychology. I hate psychology."

"But it's true," Angela smirked. "And right now, psychology trumps."

"I don't know what that means."

"I think that it doesn't matter what it means. I know that you won't do it until you're ready, but you owe it to Booth to tell him. For that matter, Cam needs to know, and Zack and Hodgins deserve the truth, too."

"Geez, I didn't want to make this a public forum."

"It doesn't have to be. We'll keep it as quiet as possible."

"Promise?"

"Absolutely. You know you can trust me for anything. You're like the closest thing that I've had in a while to a sister." Brennan smiled at this. She liked the idea of having a sister, having a family member who was a trustworthy constant in her life. She got up from her desk and wrapped her arms around Angela's abdomen in what some might have considered an awkward hug.

"Thanks, Angela."

* * *

If she hadn't brought a pair of simple, white socks to wear, the clean, white floor would have been almost too cold to stand on as she traversed the hallway of the imaging wing of the hospital. The necessary IV had already been placed, a steady saline drip running through. Brennan tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and continued to wheel the IV pole alongside her until the nurse had led her into the imaging room. Two technicians were already there, waiting. The nurse handed the stocky redhead, a man who seemed to be in his early thirties, her file.

"Temperance, I am Ian Garendi. I will be monitoring your test today. Do you have any questions?"

"No," she answered simply, smiling politely as she shook his hand in greeting. She held her head up and there was a calm, nonchalance to her composure. No reason to worry, she thought, this test was simply for accuracy's sake. No big deal. People went through it all the time.

"Okay, then, let's get the contrast medium administered. Could you please lie down there for me?" He gestured at the sliding gurney that she would be in for the test. She nodded.

"Of course," she said. With no effort she lifted herself onto the sliding table, covered with a thick foam mattress and a clean, white sheet. The nurse motioned for her forearm and she obliged, offering the arm with the IV attached. The nurse smiled.

"You may feel a little discomfort at first, but don't worry. It will stop eventually." Brennan nodded, understanding. She chose not to watch the administration of the contrast medium, but she felt it. Her arm began to buzz as though the nerves had simultaneously fallen asleep and been burned. The nurse tried to distract her, asking her a plethora of questions. Had she eaten that day? Had she remembered to take off her underwired bra and any metal jewelry? Did she have any implants like an IUD that could be torn out by the magnet during the test? At this, Brennan rolled her eyes. They had her x-rays; they easily could have looked at them beforehand to determine what answer she would give.

And then, she was asked to lie down and the nurse and technician left the room. They continued to speak to her through the speakers, of course, as she was drawn back into the tiny, cylindrical chamber. Dark, she saw, with a few blue lights scattered here and there, presumably so that the patients wouldn't be afraid. The test began. Heavy thumping echoed through the chamber, resounding in her head, as the magnet rotated. The imaging, she knew, was caused by the rotation of the magnet continuously flipping, disturbing the electrical fields of the different particles that made up her brain and skull.

But for the first time, she wasn't sure it mattered. Trying to escape the sound, which was beginning to make her uneasy, she allowed her mind to wander.

Angela had volunteered to drive her into the hospital that morning, and had offered to pick her up when she was through. Brennan, however, was contemplating calling Booth to come and pick her up, though. For several reasons, really. The first was that it seemed a very logical time and place to fill him in on her medical condition, especially since she would have a great many details to offer him explanation. It was a conversation that she knew they needed to have.

She also missed him. She missed the way he listened absolutely to her when she spoke, they way nobody except Angela ever had. She missed their banter, his psychology-based counterattacks to her purely empirical rationale.

Seeley Booth was a true confidant. She knew that she could trust him with anything, any task in his hands, she knew, would be seen through to the end. Over time, she'd seen what he could do, and based on this evidence it was logical for her to conclude that he was trustworthy, loyal, faithful. His past had instilled in him an unmatched passion and drive for justice, and though the two differed in their means, the end goal was shared for both of them on every case that they worked on. Though his emotional nature had the tendency to obfuscate his judgment, his insight was invaluable. He read something in people so easily, with the ease she could look at a bone and determine age, sex, and race of the person to whom it had once belonged. But she liked that. Working with Booth was the one thing that made working in cooperation with the Bureau manageable.

The dull thumping continued, and she began to tune it out. Finally, the test was over and she was sitting, fully dressed, in the examination room. She made the call from her room phone, and he told her he would be there soon. No questions, no explanations needed. If she hadn't been told to lie perfectly still, she would have smiled. Their professional relationship was at such a level of understanding that each knew that the other would always oblige to a personal favor. It was simply how the two of them were.

Soon the images were brought into the room by the technician. Put up on the illuminated board to better be able to visualize the abnormalities. The shape hadn't changed, size and location remained constant. The surgeon had been optimistic before, and these findings certainly didn't change anything, which was a relief to Brennan. The tech left the images with her to look over. Not that it was much use, she was, after all, a bone person.

As he left the room, Brennan caught herself reaching around with her left hand and gingerly grazing the spot at the base of her skull beneath which she knew that the tumor was located. And she couldn't help but let out a quick, dry laugh, stoppered by emotion. After everything she had been through, it had to be cancer that was a threat right now. Her eyes glistened and a tear threatened to escape from her lid. She blinked it back quickly.

"Hey," a voice said from the door. Through the crack she saw two warm, brown eyes. "Mind if I come in?"

"Please," Brennan said, unable to smile, clutching the envelope that contained her MRI scan. Booth pushed open the door and entered the room, closing the door gently behind him. It was then that she noticed a small bouquet of sunny yellow daffodils, wrapped in white tissue paper, held in his right hand. She smiled. "You didn't have to bring those for me," she said.

"Oh, these?" He asked, clearing his throat and raising his eyebrow. "Who says that these are for you?" She tilted her head very slightly to the side, raising an eyebrow in a very clear 'you-can't-fool-me' look. The window was open, casting late morning rays of sun into the room. A few rays of sunlight caught Brennan's hair, making it glisten a soft shade of gold. "I, uh, snagged them...coma patient down the hall. He won't notice that they're missing." He grinned.

"That's low, Booth, " she said, shaking her head in mock reprimand. He shrugged.

"Eh, well, I know a woman whose favorite flower happens to be daffodils, and I think that she is in particular need of cheering up right now. I thought she would benefit from having something bright, sunny, and alive with her."

"Like the flowers?"

"Like the flowers." Their eyes met and they shared a smile of understanding.

"Thanks, Booth," she said gratefully, laying the MRI down on the bed and accepting the small bouquet from him. There was a moment of silence.

"So, uh," he began, taking a seat in the wooden chair positioned at her bedside. "Ready to tell me what's going on with all this?" He gestured vaguely into the air surrounding him. Brennan understood it to mean the hospital. She exhaled quickly and audibly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear and sitting on the bed, cross-legged, facing him.

"Yes," she said. Another pregnant pause followed. Booth saw the wrinkle between her eyebrows that formed when Brennan was worried or thinking hard about something. He reached out and rested his hand on her knee reassuringly. She took a breath. "I'm ill, Booth."

"Well, I know that, otherwise you wouldn't be spending your Saturday morning in the hospital."

"No, I know that," she said impatiently. Her blue eyes locked onto his brown ones, as if drawing support from them. "When I lost consciousness earlier because of those headaches, there were x-rays taken. They found a mass," she said very clearly and empirically.

"A brain tumor?" Booth asked. He pulled his hand from her knee quickly.

"In the vernacular, yes, that is accurate." Booth searched her eyes for any sign that she was joking, that this wasn't real. But he saw only truth and trust. And deep down, he knew that she couldn't lie about something like this. Not to him. When he did not respond verbally, she continued. "There was a biopsy, which confirmed malignancy. The good news is that it doesn't appear to have metastasized. The neurosurgeon is optimistic that with a successful surgery and chemotherapy, I will make a full recovery."

He couldn't fathom it. He just looked at her, still searching her eyes. After a moment, he broke eye contact with her, looking in the direction of the window without really seeing it. She was sick, his Bones had cancer. Brain cancer. He looked back at her, searching her face. She looked fine, and yet… Booth cleared his throat nervously.

"Of course you will," he said, hoping that he had managed to inject a reassuring note into his voice. "You're tough."

"This has nothing to do with being tough. Just the skill of the surgeon, the effectiveness of the treatment..." And that scared her, that she had no control over any aspect of the situation at all.

"I don't get it," he said, shaking his head. "You were fine—"

"No, I wasn't," she said quietly. "I wasn't fine. I felt fine. I am just fortunate that they caught it in time to do something."

"You will be okay," he said again, more to convince himself than to convince her.

"Booth, you can't know that for sure, nobody can," she said. "Nobody can." And for whatever reason, something inside of her started to break and her eyes began to well with tears, which she wiped away quickly with the back of her hand. "But the surgeon said it was treatable. And I'm having the surgery next weekend, so—"

"Next weekend?"

"Yes, the sooner, the better." She gave him a small smile. But he didn't smile back. His eyes had a look of resolve mixed with something else she couldn't quite identify. After all, he was the one who read people. Not her.

"When?"

"Saturday morning. If everything goes accordingly, I will check into my room here on Friday evening after work. The surgery is scheduled to take place at 8am the following day. It should last around 4 hours, after which I will spend the rest of the day in the recovery room. When I am coherent enough, my neurosurgeon, Dr. Laskey, will review the procedure with me and disclose any findings."

"And then?" Brennan exhaled quickly.

"I'll probably take some time off to recover. Depending on how quickly I am healing and how strong I fee, I may go back to work quickly. Either way, I will begin a short round of chemotherapy treatments on the weekends until my doctor is satisfied."

"Oh, great, Bones," Booth said, the corners of his mouth twitching upward with a hint of sarcasm. "Now I'm actually going to have to bring Zack into the field." She smiled, drawing her knees up to her chin.

"Don't worry," she said. "Hopefully I'll be out there emulating, who was it, Scully and Mulder, with you in no time. But without hair." She got a bit of a playfully pouty look on her face. "I know it is vain and irrelevant, but I do not want to lose my hair."

"Eh, it will grow back," Booth said. "Let's get out of here." Brennan nodded in agreement.

"Good idea." She carefully slid her MRI back into its folder and tucked it into her large bag. Standing, she slipped her shoes on, ignoring Booth's hand, an offer in case she needed help keeping her balance while putting her shoes on. "I am perfectly capable of putting my own shoes on," she said indignantly. Booth smiled.

"I know you are," he told her. After her jacket was slid over her shoulders and she had her bag and the bouquet of daffodils in her possession, both of them turned to leave the room after one last check to be sure that she hadn't left anything behind. Placing his hand on the small of her back, he gently allowed her to walk ahead of him for a moment out of the room. In the hallway, he took his hand off of her back and they walked in silent emotion. Accidentally, Brennan softly brushed her hand over his, catching his attention, causing him to turn to her. She was surprised to see that his eyes were growing moist. She gave him a gentle smile,

"Thanks, Booth," she said quietly. He nodded, locking eyes again. In that moment, he knew that she trusted him as fully and completely as he trusted her.

"I'm here for you, Temperance," he said. "Always."

And Brennan knew that he meant it.

* * *

And that's all she wrote, for now!

Please review! Let me know what you think so far.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I wish I did, but I don't own Bones. Or anything else, really. So don't sue me. You would lose money and time, and gain nothing.

* * *

If I Should Fall—Chapter 4

* * *

"Where is Dr. Brennan?"

"In her office, why?"

"You don't get to ask why, Zack," Cam said, arms crossed over her chest. "Thank you for telling me where to find her." Heels clicking on the pristine floor, she turned, stepped off of the platform where Zack was analyzing something under a high-powered microscope and walked over to find her colleague, long ponytail swishing behind her. Arriving at the office, she rapped sharply on the door and Dr. Brennan looked up. Cam took it as a signal that she could come in.

"Hey," she said simply, taking a few steps into the room.

"Hey, Cam, what's going on?"

"I have a request from the producer of a television show, CSI. They need research for one of their newest episodes. You up to it?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Brennan asked. She shuffled around a small stack of forms on her desk to make room for the file that Cam had in her hand.

"I don't know, maybe it's the whole having a brain tumor thing?"

"You're being sarcastic. I don't do well with sarcasm."

"I know, Dr. Brennan. So you can get this done?"

"Yes, as soon as I finish up identification reports on these remains," she said, indicating the two clear plastic drawers filled with skeletal remains sitting on the very edge of her desk.

"Excellent, thank you." Cam handed the file to Brennan, who took it quickly and set it aside. Cam turned and took a few steps out of the room, but lingered at the doorway for a moment. She turned back, giving Brennan a look of concern and curiosity.

"Is something wrong?" Brennan asked, pen still in her hand as she looked up from the writing she was doing. There was a brief pause.

"Do you… need anything, Dr. Brennan?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Cam. The surgery is in a few days and we'll see how it goes, but statistically the odds are in my favor." Cam smiled, completely unconvinced.

"Alright. Let me know if you change your mind." And she turned to go.

"I don't do that," Brennan said, raising her eyebrows.

"Don't do what?" Came Cam's response from somewhere out of sight.

"Change my mind," she called back.

"Damn stubborn," Cam muttered under her breath as she left.

* * *

"Zack, I need those bones," Hodgins said, poking Zack in the shoulder.

"You're poking me."

"I know that, it's a tactic aimed at getting you to hurry up."

"You'll find it to be ineffective."

"And why is that?"

"Because," Zack explained, "after three years of working together I have developed proficiency for ignoring you." He continued to examine the partial skeletal remains on the autopsy table in front of him and make notes. Hodgins, clearly annoyed, tilted his head slightly toward the ceiling and rolled his eyes.

"Could I at least have the bones that you've already examined?"

"Why do you need them so immediately?"

"Because, Zack, as we wait and the bones are exposed to the air circulating here, and therefore the particulates on the bone could be masked by continual exposure to the air that is already circulating." Zack didn't look up from his work.

"The Jeffersonian is equipped with an excellent filtration system. Do you know what time Dr. Brennan is going in for her brain surgery on Saturday?"

"Wait, what?" Hodgins asked, crossing his arms across his chest, confused by the sudden leap. "Zack, you need to not think so quickly, because normal people cannot understand you."

"I cannot do anything to counter my neuronal firing rate. And you didn't answer my question."

"I don't know, I think 8 or 9 in the morning. Why?" Zack looked up from his work, and Hodgins thought that he saw a flicker emotion on his face.

"Because I'm told that showing positive emotion prior to a surgical procedure increases the chances of a positive outcome."

"So you're thinking that if you go visit the good doctor before her surgery, she's going to be happy to see you and feel better about getting her skull drilled in?" Zack was silent.

"That wasn't how I was going to phrase it."

"But it was what you were thinking." Again, silence. "Aww, this is nice. Our little robotic lab assistant is learning to emotionally resemble a humanoid."

"What about you?"

"What?"

"Well, I would assume that because you are dating Angela, she would ask you to go with her to see Dr. Brennan before she goes in to surgery," Zack said. He scribbled a last note on his clipboard. "You can take the bones now," he told Hodgins without looking up. Hodgins gave his head a quick shake of disbelief.

"So you, ye of forbidden assumptions, would be willing to make the leap—"

"Yes, I would. You can take the bones now."

"Man, I heard you the first time," Hodgins said, growing more frustrated. "I'm taking them. And yes, I am going on Saturday morning. Moral support is generally a good thing. I think Dr. Brennan will appreciate us being there." And with that, he gathered up the bones and walked away, leaving Zack on the platform alone to finish his notes.

* * *

The sun set beautifully on Thursday evening. The heavenly, glowing orb cast rays of orange and yellow light across the rolling, grassy lawn that sprawled out before the Jeffersonian Institute. The flowers of the neatly kept gardens seemed to stretch out, to catch the last light of the day before the sun disappeared and plunged them into the uncertainty of darkness. The sky was painted with shades of fiery oranges and reds, with a hint of deep purple that announced, with conviction, that the day was at an end. It was the close of a warm May day, and a few passersby were strolling lazily through the gardens, pausing to admire the flowers or the fountains or the beauty of the sunset.

And on bench nearby, at the foot of a powerful oak, sat Temperance Brennan. Forearms resting on her thighs, she held a bottle of water carelessly in one hand, her back curved over gracefully as she, too, admired the sunset. Her blue eyes squinted against the brightness of the half-set sun and her hair cascaded freely over her shoulders. She loved this time of day, found it relaxing. It was as though the sun illuminated the earth with its most beautiful light just before the close of the day, so that its inhabitants would see the world at its best just before the sun died and darkness fell.

The week had gone so quickly, she thought. Time, she knew, was an imposed construct, but she couldn't help feeling, at that moment, a desire to halt the time-space continuum, just for a little while. It had felt like a mostly normal week when she stopped thinking about it too hard.

There had been no new FBI cases for her that week. Even if there had, she doubted very much that Booth would even have considered taking her out into the field. And for once, she was okay with that. She wasn't the type of person to begin a task and leave it unfinished, and she was afraid that that's what a new case would turn into for her. Time constraints didn't suit her when she was working. As long as it took to get all of the facts accurate and objectively examine the findings was how long she would devote to each and every case. No exceptions.

It had been the usual work for her that week. Identifications, authentications, verifications, the type of work at which she excelled. And at the end of the day, she found herself here, on this bench. It was her favorite place to sit and watch the sun rise, or set, for when she needed a reprieve from staring into Death's dark, hollow, mysterious eyes each day.

This time, though… she let out a small sigh and closed her eyes. This time it was different. Because now it was her, it was personal. She knew it was irrational, that she would probably be fine, but she had found herself looking into the mirror a handful of times in the past couple of weeks and searching for the hint of Death's presence in her own eyes. As difficult and painful as it was, she wanted to know, needed some kind of sign forewarning her either way. She opened her eyes again.

Close your eyes, and life will pass you by. You miss so much by simply not paying attention, she knew. This illness, it had given her perspective. Which, truthfully, was the reason why she was out here now, admiring the easy elegance of a simple sunset over the grassy knoll. She unscrewed the cap on her bottle and took a sip to cool her throat. Fiddling with the plastic cap, she exhaled and sat back on the bench.

At this time tomorrow, she would be checked in to the hospital. Alone, not able to see the sunset at all. The day after? She felt her breath catch in her throat as she realized the magnitude of the uncertainty of it all. Would she still be here the day after tomorrow? Intellectually she felt stupid for wondering, the statistics were in her favor, but she couldn't help but dwell on it. It was still brain surgery, and so near the brain stem, where so many of the most basic functions were regulated… it scared her.

The purple in the sky was growing more vibrant now as the sun sank lower into the horizon. A small flock of birds flew overhead in an uneven V shape, most likely on a return flight from somewhere south. A light breeze blew through the air, caressing her cheek. Her eyes began to well with tears. Just the reaction caused by the wind in her eyes, she rationalized, drying them quickly with the back of her hand. She took another sip of water.

"Hey." Brennan looked around as the voice startled her to see her partner standing there, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt beneath that jacket he always wore.

"Hey," she replied, looking away from him and back toward the sunset for a moment. He took that as a signal that he could take the empty seat on the bench beside her, leaning forward, elbows on his legs, craning his neck to see her face. He sat up, unsuccessful, and leaned back against the bench.

"I, uh, stopped by your office earlier. You weren't there." She didn't respond right away, and so he went on. "I thought you might be here. It looks like you could use some company."

"And what led you to that conclusion?" She turned, eyes boring into his, her jaw set.

"I know better than most," he told her, "that your own head can be a pretty scary place if you're there by yourself for too long."

"I don't know what that means"

"It means that every once in a while, it's good to express your emotions. Let them out, deal with them externally instead of internally." Brennan nodded slowly, in understanding.

"I can do that, but I'm not sure that I want to."

"Okay, that's fine, Bones." Booth sat back, making himself comfortable.

"What are you doing?"

"Sitting here, with you, in silence. It so happens that I enjoy sunsets, too. And if you feel like talking, I'll be here for you." Their eyes held each other's gaze for a moment. Booth settled back onto the bench, turning his face to the setting sun. He cast a quick glance at Brennan, and she suddenly dropped her eyes.

"Booth, have you ever thought about… about your funeral?" He sat up a little straighter, looking at her in shock and disbelief.

"No, no, no, no," he said very quickly. "You don't talk like that."

"I haven't really said anything," she defended, voice raised, strung with a note of protest.

"No, but I know where you are going with this."

"I'm being serious. Haven't you ever wondered? What kind of flowers there would be, if there would be a viewing, which cemetery, music, how many people would show up to grieve your loss?" After a moment Booth sighed.

"Yeah, okay? I have."

"Well, there's no need to be defensive. It's completely normal, to wonder about the unknown and mysterious." She looked back at Booth. "I'm not sure what my own funeral will be like. I am curious to know who will come. Clearly I won't know, I won't still have senscience at that point—"

"Bones," Booth said warningly, quietly. "Please don't talk like that."

"—I know that I would like to be buried in a white casket, near my mother. I—"

"Bones!" he exclaimed, louder. "Stop." there was a pleading note in his voice that she didn't like, and she grew quiet.

"I'm sorry, Booth," she said. "It's just that… this is too close to home." He knew what she meant. There was no need to clarify.

"I hate to tell you this, but this _is_ home. It won't hit any closer," he told her. "But what it does mean is that it can get better, it can get further away." She swallowed and nodded.

"Because there's a chance that I'll make a full recovery?"

"Exactly."

"But there's also a chance that I won't be okay, Booth, and this—" her voice broke. "There is so much that could go wrong. And I have no way of knowing, no way of really predicting what will happen. Will I even wake up the day after tomorrow?"

"You will."

"You don't know that," she pointed out. And her objectivity about the situation was beginning to make his heart ache.

"Okay, look, Bones," he said, intensifying his stare. "You have your way of dealing, I have my way of dealing. My way involves a lot more positive thinking. And hoping, and even praying to God, and I realize that you don't believe He exists, but my beliefs help me to get through the tough times." She fell silent. The sun had just disappeared over the horizon, leaving the sun splashed with reds, oranges, purples and deep blues. The amber light cast from the sun gave her skin and hair a soft glow, but could not disguise the worry still evident in her eyes. She swallowed.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay, it's not your fault. That was me being selfish… I know that this is much more difficult for you." For a few seconds, both turned as if on cue to watch the sinking sun, to take in the faint scent wafting in on the breeze and the splash of vibrant color that decorated the sky. And, suddenly, as if keeping the words inside was poisoning her, Brennan turned to him.

"Can I tell you something, in confidence?" His brow furrowed with concern.

"Of course you can." She swallowed again and took a breath.

"I'm scared, Booth," she said, eyes meeting him, searching his. He opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again, sensing that she needed for him to lend a listening ear. "Terrified. I have endured torture by the Salvadorian police, the soldiers in Darfur tried to drown me in a river, I have escaped capture by the Chinese army. And each of those times, I knew—" her voice caught. She knew she shouldn't be, but she was embarrassed. She turned away from him for a minute. "I knew what was happening. I have taken so many precautions not to end up like the victims that I deal with every day. And I thought that I would be able to take comfort in knowing that I won't end up like that. But now? Knowing that I could die before the end of the weekend, that my demise could be by an illness that I could do nothing to prevent or remedy…" her voice trailed off. She couldn't finish the sentence. She didn't know how.

Booth's jaw was set, but his eyes full of sympathy and sorrow for her. He made a move to pull her in closer to him, but she resisted.

"Temperance," he began, trying not to let his irritation at her stubbornness show. "You are my best friend and closest confidant. Please, just this once, let me be here for you. You are hurting, and I hate that. Let me at least pretend to help comfort you." She looked at him, eyes beginning to moisten. This time, when he extended his arms, she let him pull her close. She leaned against his chest, and Booth noticed that she relaxed in his embrace. She missed this, his warm embrace, feeling safe and protected. And suddenly, unexpectedly, she began to cry, sobs wracking her body. "Shhh…" Booth said, gently running his hand along her back. "I'm here for you."

They sat like that for a long while, no words exchanged. Even when the sobbing stopped, she stayed there, head against his chest, wrapped in his arms like a child. It was darker now, with the glow beginning to disappear from the sky. Beginning to feel foolishly vulnerable, she dried her own eyes and sat up, still facing Booth.

"You did it again."

"Did what?"

"I got scared. You let me hug you. You said you'd stop letting me hug you when I get scared." Her eyes were clear, even in the dusk light.

"Okay, first of all, I never said I'd stop letting you hug me," Booth began, looking at his partner. "And secondly, I was the one doing the hugging." He paused, not breaking eye contact. "If you remember that night, I made you a promise. I told you that I would hug you if I ever got scared." His voice was solemn. "Now we're even."

Their eyes stayed connected, and at that moment, each knew what the other was thinking. _I don't want to lose you_. Neither had to say it. And Brennan knew it was silly, because when placed in dangerous or threatening situations people are driven to admit their innermost secrets to those closest to them. She wasn't the heart person, but she thought she saw trust, and fear, and concern in Booth's eyes. She put her hand on his. It was an intimate gesture that both recognized; a simple touch that could convey quite a lot of emotion.

"Thanks, Booth," she said softly. The breeze picked up and the chilly night air cut through her cotton blouse, causing her to shiver. Booth slid his hand out from underneath hers and in one motion had removed his jacket. Reaching around, he draped the jacket around her shoulders. She smiled and gave him a look.

"What? I'm being gallant."

"I find that patronizing. If I wanted your jacket, I would ask for it. I've told you that before."

"You are so stubborn, Bones. I heeded your warning then only because I didn't want you to kick my ass."

"I'm glad that you realize my martial arts abilities," she laughed. "What makes you think I won't dropkick you right now?"

"Aw, Bones, you love me too much," he grinned playfully. "As a close friend," he clarified at the look from Brennan. She smiled.

"Okay, just this once, I'll save you the excruciating pain," she told him. She looked at her watch. "It's getting late. I should go." Booth nodded.

"Early morning?"

"Always. I still have a reputation to maintain."

"Hey, Bones, listen," he began. She turned up, he had her full attention. "What happens tomorrow, or the next day, it's okay if you don't have control over everything. Just embrace life for what it is. You're doing a good job of that right now." Brennan nodded, gathering her water bottle from the seat beside her. The birds she'd seen earlier were long gone, and the chill in the air had caused most of the other evening strollers and dog-walkers to clear out for the night.

"I know," she said quietly. She turned her back to him to see that the hues of purple in the dusk were stronger, more blended with the painted bright navy sky. The first stars were beginning to emerge, and the moon was already visible.

"Alright, let's vamousse." Both stood and he, as he usually did, rested his hand at the small of her back and she didn't flinch at his touch. They made their way back to the museum, the last remnants of sunlight slowly disappearing and plunging the earth into shadow.

* * *

Thanks for sticking with it, all

Feedback is much appreciated.

And a brief rebuttal to the 'Momento Mori' comment from the last chapter: there were enough intrinsic differences that it clearly wasn't taken straight out of the episode. Inspired by would be the better description of that one. Although I am impressed that you remember the name of the episode.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

As usual, I own nothing, so please don't sue. K thanks.

* * *

If I Should Fall—Chapter 5

* * *

It was Angela who drove Brennan to the hospital the next day. Or, rather, Angela driving one of Hodgins' cars. She picked her up at her apartment at around seven, and Brennan had thanked her for taking the time to drive her, placing her small bag at her feet. She buckled her seatbelt and Angela did the same.

"That's all you're taking?" Angela had asked her in disbelief.

"Yes, it is. What else would I need?" Angela said nothing. Then, unexpectedly, she put the car in park and looked over at her best friend.

"Okay, sweetie. You ready?"

"Yes. I told them that I would be coming between 7:30 and 8:00, so everything should be ready for me once I get there." Angela looked at her again with concern.

"No, Brennan, I mean are you ready to face this?" Brennan chuckled a little hesitantly, unsure of why Angela was asking this question.

"I don't know what you mean by ready. Physically, they will prepare me at the hospital—"

"Prepare you? That makes it sound like they are trying to figure out how to best marinade a steak or something."

"—you know what I mean. And emotionally, I realize that these things happen and the best efforts of the surgeons are going to be used to extract the tumor." Angela gave a small roll of the eyes and exhaled in frustration.

"Okay, that statement was completely devoid of emotion."

"Well, it's the truth," she glanced at her watch. "We are going to be late if we don't leave soon," she said pointedly. Angela gave a sigh and a slight shake of the head, putting the car back in drive.

"Fine, sweetie, we're going." And with that, she stepped on the gas and slowly pulled away. Brennan looked out the window, watching as the early evening sunlight reflected off of the windows of her apartment. She couldn't help wondering whether this was the last time she would ever be there. She turned back to Angela, who looked a little distracted.

"Are you okay, Ange?"

"No, I'm not. I'm worried, and scared, and really, really not okay with this. I mean, I am, because I'd rather have that damn cancerous thing out of you than in, but I really don't like this."

"I don't either, but it is the best approach."

"I know, sweetie." She said. "I know."

Most of the ride was passed in silence. It was calm, most of the city's rush hour traffic had already come and gone. It was after rush hour, and too early for anyone to really be out for the evening, so few people traversed the sidewalks. Brennan sat quietly in the passenger's seat of one of Hodgins' Italian cars, head turned, staring out the window at nothing in particular. Her jaw was set, and to one who didn't know her well she was very calm. But the crease between her eyebrows had appeared again. She swallowed, lost in her thoughts.

"So I never did ask you," Angela began, the slightest of grins on her face, turning to her as they slowed for a red light. "How did Booth take it."

"Take what?"

"The fact that you have cancer."

"Oh, that," she said, pausing to gather her thoughts. Not that she needed to try to remember her partner's reaction to her illness. "Well, he looked upset but put a lot of effort into trying not to show it."

"He has every reason to be upset," Angela said. "We all do." Brennan exhaled, sadness in her eyes as she looked at her friend. The light turned green and they continued on their way.

"He's been—" she exhaled. "He's been very, very supportive. Like you. Knowing him, though, I wouldn't expect anything else." There was a pause.

"Sweetie," she began, "I don't know if you realize this, but you have that guy wrapped around your little finger."

"My fingers are, objectively, small, but I don't—"

"—Know what that means, okay," Angela finished for her. "What it means is that Booth would do anything for you, absolutely anything. And to see you sick, possibly dying—" her voice broke a little. "He's used to being able to be there from you, to protect you, to save you from anything harmful that might come your way, and not being able to do anything right now is absolutely killing him."

"My self defense skills are more than adequate," she said. But what Angela said had struck her deeply. "He said that?"

"Yes, Bren, he did. And let me tell you, I nearly had to force it out of him, but every word is true." Brennan thought about that for a moment. And then she smiled.

"I know."

"Okay, I need to ask…"

"No." Brennan said simply. She knew where this was going.

"Seriously. You two have something. You have something really, really good going."

"I should hope so, or we wouldn't make an efficient team."

"This is about a lot of things, sweetie, but efficiency is definitely not one of them."

"We are partners. Friends."

"He knows you better than any lover that you have ever had."

"So do you. That doesn't mean anything, Angela." Angela gave an exasperated sigh as, after what seemed like an eternity to Brennan, they pulled into the visitor's parking lot at the hospital. Quickly finding a parking lot, Angela downshifted and put the car into park with a bit more force than was probably necessary. She turned and looked at her friend.

"Okay, this is going to be the last time that I say this—" Brennan looked back at her friend, raising her eyebrow in a gesture of skepticism. "Okay, so maybe not the last time, but one of the most important. So listen carefully. Seeley Booth has all but told me that he is absolutely, positively, 100 head-over-heels in love with you. And I know that there is something on your end, too. Whether it is platonic love or something more, you need to admit it to yourself, sweetie, because it is obvious to everyone around you that there is something beyond a simple partnership between the two of you, something that runs deeper than friendship. I think that you know that and that you are letting the overwhelmingly large, rational part of your brain wash out the emotion. And Brennan? I need you, just this once, to turn that off."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means that you need to make more decisions with your heart and fewer with your head," Angela said. She rested a hand on Brennan's arm. "And if you need help doing that, don't be afraid to ask." There was a moment of silence between them, and Brennan nodded in understanding. She gave her friend a smile.

"Thank you for driving me, Angela. I really appreciate it." She gathered her bag in her hands and exited the car, shoes hitting the pavement definitively, as if to tell her that there was no turning back. She shut the door of the car and was surprised to see that Angela had gotten out of the car, too. Brennan must have given her a look, because Angela rolled her eyes at her.

"Do you really think I'm not going to come in with you?" Brennan shrugged and they made their way into the hospital.

* * *

Her check-in went smoothly. The information was already on file, room set up for her, surgery preparation scheduled. Angela was by her side the entire time, and as annoyed as she was that her best friend didn't think that she was capable of being able to manage on her own, she was grateful. Especially when the administrator finished laminating the freshly printed hospital identification band and asked her to hold out her left wrist. Angela squeezed her right hand, and the two exchanged a look of understanding.

"…Once you get up to your room, make yourself at home," the administrator, a stern-faced woman with silver hair and a severe haircut. "Make sure that you put on your gown before you go to sleep tonight. Depending on your surgical team, the prep nurse might not wake you up in the morning for the surgery unless you specifically request it. Remember that you are on a fast before the surgery, so nothing except water after midnight tonight. If you have any questions beyond that, you can always buzz for the nurse." Brennan nodded. "Okay, then, you're free to go."

"Thank you," she said, and she and Angela left to find Brennan's hospital room.

It was a small, private room, painted a pale green with a bed, large window with white curtains. There was a small wooden wardrobe and a door leading to a bathroom. Like the room she had previously been in, a window near the door allowed the nurses to monitor her from the hallway, and a short counter with a sink and other very basic medical supplies sat beneath it.

The thing that surprised her the most about the hospital room, though, was that there were people already in it. They were sitting, dispersed throughout the room, and all of them looked up and smiled when she walked into the room.

"What—what are you all doing here?" she asked, the corners of her lips twitching upward into a smile. Her eyes were alight with emotion at the support that her friends were showing her. And they were there, all of them. Cam sat in one of the bedside chairs, Hodgins and Zack sitting on the bed. And a big box of Chinese food sat on the counter.

"We thought you could use some company," Cam said, "You know, less opportunity for you to be miserable and alone."

"I'm not—"

"I know, I know."

"Anyway, we thought you'd like some great food before you're on the synthetic liquid nutrient combination that the hospital will be feeding through your veins," Hodgins told her, grinning.

"Thanks, everyone," Brennan said. She had a seat in one of the bedside chairs next to Cam, and Angela took a seat beside Hodgins.

They delved into plates of sesame chicken and fried rice accompanied with lively conversation. And looking around, she felt incredibly fortunate to have such a supportive group of people to work with, to be her friends. But as she sat there quietly, Hodgins and Zack deeply involved in an argument about the governmental inaccuracies of _The X-files_ and Cam and Angela chatting about the latest Matt Damon film, she wondered about the one person, one very important part of her work family, who was missing.

"Where is Booth?" She blurted out before she could stop herself, chopsticks frozen in midair. Cam and Angela quickly exchanged a look, and Hodgins shrugged.

"He has Parker this weekend," Cam said. "He said that he was going to try to get Rebecca to watch him for tonight or to switch for next weekend, but I guess Rebecca had some thing with Drew planned, so we'll see. He said he'd be here if he could."

"I can see that," Brennan said, nodding. It made sense to her, Booth had his responsibilities as a father, and she knew that she shouldn't, but she felt a little bit disappointed that he couldn't be there. If this was what Angela was talking about when she said to be more emotional, she didn't like it.

* * *

But Booth was having a rough time getting Rebecca to agree. It had been nearly seven when he had arrived at his ex's house, so distracted that he almost didn't notice when his six-year-old barreled down the stairs and straight into his father in a flash of blond curls screaming "Daddyyyyyyyy!"

"Hey, bub!" he said, laughing, hoisting his son up in a bear hug and ruffling his blond curls. "I just need a minute to talk to your mom, okay?" He nodded.

"Okay, Dad. I can go get her." Booth wandered into the living room and took a seat on the couch. The room was peppered with family photos; lots of Parker in his various stages of growing up, a couple of Rebecca and Parker, and, recently, a few had popped up of Rebecca, Drew and Parker.

"What's up, Seeley?" Rebecca asked, sitting on the loveseat across from him.

"I, uh, have a favor to ask of you," he said. Rebecca's eyebrows raised and her eyes widened.

"Oh, no, no, no, no," she said. "Seeley, this is your weekend with Parker. I have had this retreat with Drew planned for weeks."

"Please, just hear me out." Rebecca looked reluctant, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Let's have it." Booth exhaled, lacing his fingers together.

"Bones is sick," he said. "No, Rebecca, listen. She has cancer."

"Oh, no," she said, the look on her face replaced with concern. "Seeley, I'm sorry."

"She is having surgery early tomorrow morning. Please, Rebecca, I can come and get him tomorrow the second I know that she is okay."

"How long is the surgery?"

"It will be about 4 hours. So I can come and pick up Parker at one, and you and Drew can still at least have part of the weekend. If you want, I will even take him to school for you on Monday morning." Rebecca sighed, still a little frustrated with the whole situation.

"No, I know you," she said. "You are a truly devoted person. You will want to stay with Dr. Brennan as much as you can. Because you can't stand it when people that you care about have to go through things alone."

"She won't be alone," Booth said.

"Because you will insist on being there."

"No, she has other friends. Between Angela and the rest of the squints, I'm sure that she'll have visiting hours covered. I'm not worried about after the surgery."

"Yes, you are," she said. She searched his eyes. "What kind of cancer?"

"It, um—" he cleared his throat. "It's brain cancer. In the back of her head. And her chances… her chances are iffy." He set his jaw and kept his eyes fixed on Rebecca's, willing her to do this for him, for Bones. She sat up a little straighter.

"Oh," she said simply. She thought for a moment. "You know, Parker is really excited about spending time with you."

"I know."

"He always is."

"I know."

"Which is why it is always difficult when you decide you have something more important to do." Booth narrowed his eyes.

"Rebecca, you know it's not like that. I love Parker. You know that he's my number one priority, always."

"So prove it," she challenged. "I'm serious, Seeley."

"Why, because you don't want to disappoint Parker or because you don't want to cancel your little cuddle-fest with Drew?"

"You're not being fair."

"Neither are you." They were both quiet. Booth shook his head slightly to the side. "Look, Rebecca, I don't like any part of this situation right now. I know this is sudden, I just found out a few days ago myself, but please let me go and support her. She's my partner, and me and the squints are the closest thing she has to family. Everyone deserves support through something like this. Please," he said, a note of pleading in his voice. His eyes bored into hers, trying to read her. But her expression remained unreadable. There was a pause. She looked down and examined the fingernails of her left hand. She looked up again with intensity.

"You really love her, don't you?"

"We're partners, Rebecca, you know that." And even though she didn't quite accept his answer, she gave a defeated sigh.

"You are going to be the one to tell Parker," she said. Booth lowered his head, relieved, and exhaled.

"Thank you, Rebecca," he told her.

"You know how I feel about this."

"Yes, I do, and the next time that the life of my closest friend is threatened by a potentially terminal illness—"

"You would do the same thing," said Rebecca, a shadow of a smile crossing her face.

"Yeah, I would." He said.

Though Parker had been visibly disheartened by the loss of time with his father that weekend, the promise of another lifted his spirits just as much. In an effort to save her weekend getaway, Rebecca made a call to her parents to see if they would take Parker, leaving Booth sitting on the couch in the living room for a little while longer. And just before he left, after a disgruntled Rebecca confirmed that she did, in fact, have to cancel her reservations for that weekend, Parker bounded back down the stairs.

"Daddy, wait," he shouted, running as fast as his legs would carry him. "Here, I made a get well soon card for Dr. Bones." Booth smiled at his son's concern.

"Thanks, Parker. I'm sure that she will love it." Parker beamed with pride.

"Make sure you tell her that I made it all by myself."

"I will," Booth said, sweeping his son up in a hug. "I'll see you very soon. I love you."

"I love you, too, bye!"

And with that, Booth jumped into his car and turned the ignition. He had another part of his family to be with.

* * *

I know that this is a pretty short one, but that's ok. Because the next scene that I put in would have made this chapter quite long. At any rate, I really hope that you enjoyed it!

One more note to add: if anyone needs a beta reader, I would be more than happy to volunteer. I love reading what other people come up with! won't let me…they say that I have to be a member for a certain length of time or author five stories. To be completely honest, I daresay that just because you can write a ton doesn't mean you would make a good editor. My qualifications? I'm a science person, but I am literate and have excellent grammar skills and diction. So shoot me a message if you are interested.

And, as usual, that's all she wrote for now.

Please review and let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Bones-related. Please don't sue me.

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If I Should Fall—Chapter 6

* * *

"Excuse me, ma'am, which room is Temperance Brennan staying in?"

"She's over in 414, right down the hall and to the left," the young nurse with high cheekbones answered. Booth turned, making his way down the hallway. It would have irritated him, the cleanliness and tidiness of it all, if he hadn't been so preoccupied. Gordon Wyatt had told him once that he felt out of place in areas like this, places that dealt with death and disease in an environment of clean, shiny instruments and bright lights. But at least there was emotion allowed here, he thought, as he continued down the hallway.

He rounded the corner. There was room 409, darkened with the blinds drawn. 411, door open, a nurse checking the vital signs of a man who appeared to be asleep. 412 and 413, unremarkable, simply its occupants watching television.

The light was on in 414, but the curtains at the front window were drawn. The door was open a crack. Booth listened. Nothing. He straightened his belt buckle and jacket, and rapped the doorframe gently. Still no sound. He tried knocking a little louder, but his patience was sparse, and so he gently pushed the door open. Only after he had taken a step into the room did he hear the faint sound of running water from behind the closed bathroom door. Out of respect, he retracted his steps and listened at the door.

He heard the water stop, and he knocked again. This time, a response.

"I'll be there in just a moment," Brennan's voice drifted from behind the closed door. Booth waited until he heard the door open to come into the room, taking a few steps in and swinging the door partly closed behind him. He looked around and the first thing that caught his eye was the soft smile on his partner's face when their eyes met. He smiled back, but his smile faltered for a split second.

She was wearing her white-and-blue patterned hospital gown and a simple pair of white socks. Her hair was down, brushed smooth and allowed to cascade to her shoulders. She wore no makeup, and the small pile of neatly folded clothing she carried told him that she had just donned the standard-issue cotton gown.

"Hey," she said simply, bending down to set her clothes neatly in her bag, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear as it fell in front of her face.

"Hey," he said, "I'm sorry, Bones, I wanted to come by earlier, but I had something else to take care of first. So, tell me, is that one of those hospital gowns that leaves your tush hanging out?" He was joking, she could tell.

"Sadly, no, there is a tie over the buttocks discouraging that particular view of my body." She lifted the blankets on her bed and slid between the sheets. Booth edged the chair closer to her bedside. "You missed Wong Foo's earlier."

"I know. I'm sorry." She nodded.

"I know. Cam told me that you have Parker this weekend. Did you bring him here?"

"No, I didn't. I asked Rebecca to switch for next weekend."

"And she let you?"

"Yep," he said. She tilted her head very slightly to the side, knowing that he wasn't being completely honest. And he knew that she was reading him correctly. "Okay, so it took a little bit of persuasion, but I'm taking Parker next weekend. Besides, he heard that you were sick. He made you this." Booth pulled the folded piece of white construction paper from his jacket and handed it to her. Brennan gave him an inquisitive glance as she looked down at the paper in her hands.

It was a simple card, the front decorated with an intricate picture sketched out in brightly colored crayons. It showed two people, one smaller than the other, holding hands. One, with yellow curly hair and a red scribbled shirt, was clearly meant to be Parker. The other was a woman with brown hair wearing blue. Her. Surrounding them were flowers, trees and grass. A blue sky, and a bright, happy sun.

She opened the card, a soft smile lighting her face. 'Get Well Soon' was scrawled in black at the top of the page, a yellow flower drawn beneath it. He had signed the card 'From Parker' in red crayon.

"He's a great kid, Booth. Please thank him for me."

"I will," he said. He looked up and held her gaze. "He really likes you. He seemed pretty upset for a six-year-old when I told him that you were sick." Brennan nodded. She set the card up on her bedside table and looked at it for a moment. Booth recognized her contemplative look.

"You love spending time with Parker," she said quite suddenly. But Booth knew where she was going, where her thoughts were.

"Yes, but right now, I want to be here with you." She was taken aback by these words. He would usually phrase such a statement as 'you need me here,' or 'I don't want you to be alone.'

But this was different. Not like the other times. And she knew why he had chosen those words.

"Booth—"

"Oh, wait," he said suddenly. He dug into his pocket a second time, fishing for something. When he withdrew his hand, something was clutched in his fist. "I brought this for you, too." Brennan leaned forward, curious, and Booth's fingers fell to reveal a small pink object. Brennan let out a light laugh that made Booth smile, too.

"You brought Jasper," she said, amused. Indeed, the small, pink pig was sitting in her partner's open palm.

"Yeah, what good is a pet if he can't keep you company?" Booth said, his eyes twinkling. "And he can sit right here," he set the figurine on the top of her nightstand, "and be with you when you are in recovery and the squints and I have to be at work." Brennan resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"You do realize that inanimate objects cannot hold any form of interaction with living things, and therefore cannot provide company."

"Aw, come on, Bones," Booth said, his voice carrying an exasperated tone. "The fact that Jasper is here will remind you, whenever you see him, that even though you may be alone in this room, there are people who care about you. He'll be like visible moral support." Brennan looked skeptical.

"I will be just fine on my own. I trust that the medical staff here will do their best to ensure that I am fully treated and make a complete recovery." Booth paused, unsure of what to say. It was like Sweets said; she was compartmentalizing again, building up walls. Before, Booth had thought that her emotional walls were built to keep the emotional, irrational part of her spirit closed away. Now, he wasn't so sure. He took a slow breath, thinking out his words before he said them, holding onto his partner's bright blue eyes.

"I know that you are used to being alone. You've been through so much on your own, and you probably the most intelligent, self-sufficient person I know. But I also know that you aren't used to asking for help or support."

"That is not true. I ask you for help."

"Yeah, Bones, on the cases we are working," he said. "That doesn't count."

"Yes, it does," she said indignantly.

"Okay, look, you have always done well on your own. But here's what I think. I think that you won't ask for help on anything dealing with a personal matter because you are afraid that, after all you have done for yourself, after everything you have accomplished, asking for emotional support will topple the reputation that you have built."

"I hate psychology."

"I know you do. But just because you don't like it doesn't make it wrong," he teased.

"The psychology holds no relevance in this situation."

"But that is where you're wrong. Everybody needs support, to know that they are wanted, respected, loved by another person. It's like the song, you know? We all need somebody to lean on."

"I don't know what that means, but I don't think that theory applies in this situation." She grew quiet, contemplative, and Booth could almost see the cogs of her mind turning as she thought about what she was going to say next.

"Look, Bones," he began. But she interrupted him abruptly.

"No, Booth. Each day, we spend half of our time together, and over the years we have built an incredibly strong relationship. And the strength of that relationship has evolved to the point where we have come to know each other's strengths and weaknesses better than most. We have relied on each other on several occasions throughout our partnership. We have faced down criminals, been shot at, shot at others, hunted down some of the most heinous murderers in the greater DC area—"

"Saved each other's lives," Booth added quietly. Brennan nodded, not letting her eyes flicker from his.

"Yes. All accomplished together. Those things are all things that I know I couldn't have done without you. We have come so far together, been through so much together. But this—" her voice wavered, her gaze fell to her hands, sitting atop the thin woven blanket. "This is a step that I need to take on my own."

It hurt her to say it, almost as much as it hurt Booth to hear it. They were silent for several moments.

"It hurts me when you say stuff like that, Bones," he said. "You said it yourself, that even if the word 'stuff' is inaccurate, we all share the stuff that makes us human, we all share in each other's triumphs, joys, and sorrows. When one is born, a piece of us comes alive, and a little bit of each of us dies with the death of another."

"I don't know what that means," she said, still staring down at her hands. He reached gently toward her, tenderly lifting her chin with his finger and searching out her gaze. She couldn't read the emotion in his eyes. In hers, he saw fear, and hope, and a tiny flicker of worry. But his gentle finger resting under her chin kept her from pulling away.

"It means that nobody can be completely independent. Life, not a single part of it, was meant to be lived alone." She swallowed and nodded tentatively.

"I can see that," she said. But Booth saw that the little furrow had formed between her eyebrows again. He moved his hand to the side of her face, her cheek resting softly against his open palm. He allowed his thumb to run over the crease, as if smoothing it would somehow ease her worries. And somehow, she understood. She tried to stop her chin from trembling.

"I'm still going to stay with you," he said. "You think that this is a step you have to take alone? I think that this, this cancer, it's one of those times when you think that you need to go alone, because you don't want to feel like a burden. You don't want to be the one weighing everyone down. But you could never be a burden, Bones, and you need a friend now more than ever." She said nothing. They lingered like that for a moment longer. It wasn't until Booth's hand fell from her cheek that he noticed a single tear running down her cheek, which she hastily wiped away.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"That you are letting somebody else see you vulnerable?" Her chin trembled and she nodded, wiping away another tear.

"I don't understand, I don't usually cry."

"It may not be rational, but it will help you feel better. Trust me."

"Because of the release of norepinephrine."

"Because your heart will feel lighter." A shadow of a smile crossed her face.

"Brain and heart, right?"

"Brain and heart." They shared a smile. She exhaled, drying her eyes.

"Thanks, Booth," she said. They were drawn into each other's eyes in a gaze of deep understanding and trust. Brennan was the one who broke the gaze, leaning back onto the bed, which was propped in an upright position. She glanced over at the clock on the far wall. It was 10:30.

"Don't look at the clock," Booth said. "I'm not."

"That's silly, why not?"

"Because the anticipation of it will only make things worse," he said.

She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again. She would let him stay with her, she decided, partly because she knew it would make him feel better about the situation. He stood from his seat on the chair and she shifted over a couple of inches so that he could sit on the edge of the bed with her. She usually didn't allow such closeness, but she did nothing to push Booth away. And she couldn't shake that there was a part of her that felt a little bit more at ease, her spirit more at rest, because she knew that she was not alone, no matter how much she liked having independence and the ability to succeed on her own.

"Okay," she said. "No looking at the clock." She readjusted the blankets around her. Looking up again, she saw that Booth had not taken his eyes off of her. And it was starting to make her a little uneasy. "What?"

"What?" He asked.

"You are staring at me," she said simply. Instead of defending himself, as she had expected, he simply gave a very small shrug.

"Sorry."

"No, it's okay," she told him. "Booth, I want to tell you something…" He straightened up in his chair, the look of concern intensifying in his eyes. When he said nothing, she continued. "They aren't waking me up tomorrow morning." His face visibly paled and his jaw went slack.

"You mean…?"

"What I mean," she said, "is that it is easier to do the prep for surgery if I am already asleep. So, tomorrow morning, if I am still sleeping, they will not wake me up."

"Oh, okay," He said. "I'll guess I'll just see you after you wake up from surgery tomorrow afternoon, then." He tried for a smile. His charm smile. It didn't quite reach his eyes. Brennan gave him a look, a look of concern and sadness, tilted her head slightly to one side. Her eyebrows were slightly raised. And he knew why, but did not dare to voice his thoughts out loud.

"Booth," she began, uncertainly. But she could not find the rest of the words. She was not nearly as good at reading subtle behavioral and linguistic cues, but she could read him. She exhaled, their eyes still locked. "As difficult and fearsome as the facts are, there is nothing that either one of us can do to immediately alter or resolve the situation. Facts are facts, and the truth doesn't change just because we don't like the projected outcome. I'm not saying this because I am cold, or…or distant. I'm saying it because this is incontrovertible. I really don't—" her voice broke. "I realize that these moments may very well be the last that we spend together. And, Booth, I really wanted to say a couple of things to you—"

"Temperance, please," he interrupted her quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. But she did not heed.

"I wanted to thank you," she said simply. "As infuriatingly annoying as your protective alpha-male tendencies are, I appreciate your concern more than I can say. You have been more than my partner, more than my friend. You have been my family." One identical tear ran down both of their cheeks. Booth leaned forward slightly and allowed her to fall into his embrace.

"And you have been mine," he whispered into her hair. It smelt exotic, of peach or mango, so out of place for where they were.

There was no sobbing this time. Only a handful of silent tears were shed. She turned her head, resting her cheek on his shoulder. He rubbed her back slowly, making small circles with his palm. It was an embrace of mutual comfort, both melting into the comfort and security of the other's arms. How long they stayed like that, neither knew. Neither was watching the clock. Neither wanted to pull away.

Their embrace ended when Brennan raised her head, her arms still around her partner. Booth's hand smoothed her hair, gently tucking a loose strand behind her ear.

"You forgot to take your earrings out," he said softly, as if not to be so loud as to disturb the moment.

Brennan gave a slight nod of the head and withdrew her arms, allowing her hands to settle in her lap. Booth followed suit, his eyes searching her face as she removed the earrings, which he recognized as ones that had once belonged to her mother.

"Thanks," she said. He nodded.

"No problem." He cleared his throat. Brennan set the earrings beside Jasper on the bedside table. Turning back to Booth, there was emotion in her eyes.

"I, um, I think I'm going to try to sleep now," she told him. She was hiding again, he knew, rebuilding the barricades that she used to keep her heart separated from her head. From her connections to anyone that she cared about.

From him.

Booth nodded, placing his hands on the bed next to him. He swallowed, but the lump in his throat seemed to move only to settle in his heart.

"Okay," he said. Neither of them was crying anymore, but their eyes were laden with sorrow and the pangs of uncertainty that would arrive with the dawn of the next day. She switched off the light. Only the bedside lamp was on now, the soft yellow light illuminating their faces. "You okay?" he asked, knowing very well the answer. She gave him a sad look, tipping her head very faintly to one side.

"Booth…" she let her voice trail off. It was her answer, her full answer, and he recognized that. Nodding, he stood, smoothing the front of his t-shirt.

"So, um," he cleared his throat nervously, "I'll see you tomorrow, then?" He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. She noticed that it didn't quite reach his eyes, but she appreciated the effort, and said nothing.

"I hope so," she said, settling back into her pillows and flipping off the lamp. The only sources of light in the room were now from the lights in the hallway that managed to filter through the closed mini-blinds on the window on the door, and a few faint rays of pale moonlight that fell onto her bed. In the low light of the room, she could see his silhouette, vague details about his face. Before he had left the room, she closed her eyes.

"Goodnight, Bones," he said quietly, he, too, glancing at her one last time before turning to leave. His hand grasped the cool metal of the door's handle as if he was being guided, as if he had no control over his actions. His upper teeth very lightly scraped his bottom lip hesitantly as he paused at the door. With a last glance at his partner, he turned the knob.

"Booth?" her voice was unlike her usual self. It came quietly through the darkness of the room, wavering and irresolute. He immediately turned toward her.

"Yeah?"

"I'm not entirely sure how to posit this, but if you aren't busy…I mean, based on your past history of protective practices, I suspect that you are just going to go back to the waiting room until tomorrow morning, when you really should be home sleeping, but regardless, your mores and instincts are in fact an indicator—"

"You're rambling," he pointed out. "If you have something to say, please say it."

"Will you stay?" she asked. Though he couldn't see, she bit her lip in the dark. She didn't want to come off as weak or needy to her partner. But she knew that he could trust him, fully and completely, and she knew that he wouldn't think anything less of her.

Above all else, she wasn't as cold and unfeeling as everyone made her out to be. And right now, she was in need of the placating presence of a confidant. Booth.

"Of course," he said, closing the door again. "I'm proud of you for asking, Temperance."

He sat again at her bedside, his back to the moon, but didn't block its light from gently illuminating her face. She brought her left hand closer to the side of the bed, halfway hoping that he hadn't noticed. But he had, and, taking her up on the offer, consolingly laying his hand over hers. She liked this, knowing that somebody was there, that he was there with her. That she wasn't alone.

She maneuvered her hand around his, grasping it now, telling him silently that they would face this challenge as they always had, together. He smiled through the darkness, sure that she could feel it rather than see it.

She felt secure, safe. The way that she usually felt with Booth at her side. And she loved knowing that whatever happened tomorrow, he was with her tonight. She gave a gentle sigh of contentment and found the courage to close her eyes.

No further words were exchanged between them. He sat there, his hand still in hers, listening as her breathing became slow and even. Tentatively, he looked at her face. She was sleeping now, so peacefully that he didn't want to disturb her.

Booth was so proud of this woman, of how far she had come and how much she had achieved in the years that they had been working together. She had begun to take emotional risks, to slowly, brick by brick, dismantle the wall that had kept her heart protected from trauma. Learning to open up to, and love, her family again when they reappeared in her life was tantamount. She had more fun, was less reluctant overall to leave the lab.

Her grip on his hand loosened. She was completely asleep now. He looked into her face again. This was Temperance Brennan, a woman with whom he had worked, laughed with, comforted, sang and danced with. They had saved each other's lives. And now he saw her, lips curled in the shadow of a smile in her sleep as what could be his last moments with her slipped quietly past. Her chest rose and fell steadily, rhythmically. He wanted to do something, say something else to her. But she was sleeping soundly.

Booth sat back in his chair, massaged his temples with his free hand, and turned back to her. She, he realized, was a major part of his life, the most important person aside from his own son. And he refused to think of the possibilities of what tomorrow could bring.

A fresh set of tears welled up in his eyes and threatened to spill over. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

In a whisper so quiet that he could hardly hear it himself, he spoke four words to his partner.

"Temperance," he breathed, "please don't go."

* * *

That's all she wrote, for now.

I'm sorry that this chapter took forever to be posted. It was really, really difficult and a little bit taxing for me to write, because I didn't want to go out of character or make it too over-the-top or be too cliché. Please let me know what you think. I would really appreciate it, so please review!


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Bones-related. Please don't sue me.

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If I Should Fall—Chapter 7

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The next morning dawned cloudy and gray, but it wasn't until fat raindrops began to drum on the window of room 414 that Booth awoke.

The first thing that he registered was the presence of his partner, still sound asleep beside him. He let out a quiet groan and straightened up, trying not to make any sudden movements that would startle Bones out of her peaceful slumber. The chair had not been conducive to a good night's sleep.

He really didn't know exactly when he'd fallen asleep the night before, just that he was with her. Looking at her serene face, he smiled.

Their hands were still intertwined.

He wasn't sure how to feel then, didn't know whether it would be appropriate to smile, too premature to cry.

He wasn't watching the clock. Just her face. So he hardly noticed another person entering the room until he felt a soft hand on his shoulder. He looked up.

It was Angela. The look on her face was a mixture of elation, pity, and sorrow. She pulled a chair up next to him.

"Hey," she said quietly. "Have you been here all night?"

"Yeah. What time is it?"

"Almost time," she said simply. Booth knew what she was talking about. He nodded. The two of them sat there, in silence, until there was a sharp tapping on the door. Angela and Booth looked over as the door opened. It was a nurse, African-American, who looked to be in her 40s, with long, dark braids swept up at the back of her head.

"Good morning," she said softly. "Are you the family of the lovely doctor here?"

"Yes," Angela said without hesitation. Booth was glad she had the sense to lie. His tongue seemed to be sticking to the roof of his mouth.

He remembered something that he had told Brennan two years ago. _There's more than one kind of family_. He nodded in agreement with Angela. The placid-faced nurse nodded.

"Okay, then. My name is Jamilla, and I'm going to make sure that Ms. Brennan makes it to and from her surgery in one piece." She smiled at them. "Do either of you have any last-minute questions? If I don't know the answer, I will be sure to ask someone else."

Angela and Booth looked at each other. So many questions reeled through their minds, none of the thoughts slowing down long enough to be verbalized.

"How long will the operation last?" Angela asked.

"I was told approximately four hours."

"And after that? Where will she be? Will we be able to see her?"

"Of course. When she gets out, she will be taken to the post-op recovery room and she will be allowed to come out of the anesthesia. After that, she will be monitored in the surgical ICU until the doctors there declare her fit enough to be brought right back to her room here."

"How long?" Booth asked the nurse. She shrugged.

"That depends on how long it will take for Temperance to recover. Likely, three hours at least."

"And what's the soonest that we will be allowed to see her?"

"She will be allowed one visitor at a time once she arrives at the surgical ICU."

A heavy silence hung in the air. The nurse flipped quickly through Brennan's chart and bustled around to record a final set of vitals. Angela and Booth exchanged glances of worry and comfort.

Then it was time. Jamilla rested the chart at the foot of the bed and, with some clever leverage on the part of her feet, took off the brakes on the bed. It was time for her to go. Angela stood quickly, but Booth couldn't.

His hand was still clasped in Brennan's. Very gently, he sat there in the chair and slowly, reluctantly, worked his hand free from hers. He and Angela watched, but their friend for a moment. She stirred ever so slightly, but did not wake.

Booth took in her face for what could be the last time before the nurse wheeled her away. She was so peaceful, her cheeks carrying a gentle, healthy glow, hair spread softly over the pillow, chest rising and falling slowly, rhythmically.

"She looks so strong," Angela said softly to Booth, who nodded. Even in sleep, she was still the same Temperance Brennan, a willful, well-adjusted, independent woman. Angela rested her hand gently on Brennan's forearm for a moment, and pulled away.

"Don't worry," Jamilla the nurse told them. "I promise that she is in good hands." Angela and Booth nodded, and Jamilla began to move the bed out of the room. Angela and Booth followed them out of the door and watched as Brennan was transported down the hallway.

Then something clicked into place in Booth's mind. This was his partner, his best friend. He jogged down the hallway and, seeing him, Jamilla stopped. Booth leaned over and planted a soft, gentle kiss on Brennan's forehead.

"Please," he said, "take care of her." The nurse nodded.

"Of course, sir."

Booth didn't watch the rest of their departure, but turned instead and made his way back to where Angela stood at the door to Brennan's hospital room. She nudged him playfully and gave him a very clear 'I-told-you-so' look. He stuck his thumbs in his belt loops.

"If you tell her that I just did that…"

"Don't worry, I won't," she said. "yet." She grinned at him.

"So where is the surgical waiting room?" Booth asked, but his stomach gave a loud rumble.

"Look, you've been here all night. She'll be in there for four hours, and you won't be able to talk to her for several more. Why don't you go home, get something to eat, grab a shower—"

"You saying I smell?"

"No, I'm saying that you could use the relaxation. I'll be here, and I promise to call you if anything happens. Okay?"

Booth opened his mouth to say something in protest, but Angela cut him off.

"Look, you need a reprieve. This isn't a request, it's a statement. Go."

"You promise to call if anything happens?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die," she said, mimicking the motions of the old children's rhyme. "Go."

Booth nodded. He felt like he needed to get out of the hospital anyway.

"Thanks, Ange," he said gratefully. "Do you want me to bring anything back for you?"

"No, I'm okay. You just take a few minutes for yourself."

"And you promise—"

"Booth," she said, hands on her hips in what came off as a rather commanding stance. "Go."

* * *

The minutes ticked by slowly. Painfully slowly, Angela thought, staring around her for what seemed like the five-hundredth time at the surgical waiting room. It was drab, depressing, the walls painted a beige and spotted every few feet with paintings that she supposed were supposed to be soothing. She wanted to speak to the person who had chosen the décor here, to set their idea of soothing art straight.

Hodgins squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. He had arrived with her that morning, and had been parking the car while Angela went in to find Brennan before the operation had begun. She rested her hand on his thigh and conveyed her worry to him through her eyes.

Two and a half hours had passed. Which meant that they were more than halfway through.

Before she could stop it, a terrible visual flooded her mind. Her best friend, lying on the cold, stainless-steel table on her stomach, on a ventilator, hair partially, if not all, shaved off. Her skull drilled open.

She could imagine it, and exposed section of her perfectly white skull, stained red with blood. Brennan believed that the bones were the best part of a human being, that the story of life was etched into the morphology of the bone. What if it was her? What could her own skull tell?

A tear slipped down Angela's cheek and she let it run free, not bothering to wipe it away.

Brennan's brain, which had given her so much throughout her life, was tainted now. She had her friend's voice in her head now, telling her not to worry, that her actual brain wasn't damaged but instead just infiltrated by a different type of tissue that needed to be removed.

That thought made her want to laugh out loud. But the gravity of the situation put a weight on her chest that could not so easily be removed.

"I'm gonna go use the restroom, okay Angie?" Hodgins told her tentatively, rubbing her shoulder before recoiling his arm back to his side.

"Yeah."

"Do you need anything? Coffee? Water? Bagel?" She shook her head.

"No, I'm okay. Thanks, Jack." He nodded.

"Let me know if anything changes."

"I will." He stood and, with a comforting glance, turned and made his way out of the waiting room.

Some of the other occupants in the room had looked up at the noise of them talking. Others were, like Angela had been, too much enveloped in the worry and sorrow of their own situations to even notice. Some, like the couple in the corner near her, clutched each others hands nervously as silent tears streamed down the woman's cheeks. An old man at the other end of the room kept blowing his nose loudly into a pale blue handkerchief. A young man, small child curled up, asleep, in his lap, stared blankly into the wall ahead of him.

Angela suddenly felt very alone, unsure of what to do. Booth was still gone, she hadn't heard from him since she'd coerced him to go home and get some rest. Hodgins was gone now, too. Zack hadn't seen the logic of coming at all, which had surprised Angela. The young doctor had come to be so enamored with Dr. Brennan that she was sure he would be there. Cam had said that she might drop by, but there was, so far, no sign of her.

So Angela waited.

Silently.

Alone.

It was then that a surgeon came into the waiting room.

The middle-aged woman pulled off her cap and looked around the room with sad eyes.

"Family of Todd Gephart?"

Angela breathed a sigh, she didn't know whether it was a relieved sigh or not. She didn't know, couldn't' decide, whether it would be worse for a surgical procedure to end early or to end late.

The couple stood and followed the surgeon out of the room, the door swinging and latching closed behind her.

She breathed again, picked up an outdated issue of _Glamour_ and flipped through it absentmindedly, the glossy photographs and story headlines not quite registering her brain.

But she didn't have long to wait.

Another surgeon stepped through the door. And Angela knew that this time, the news was meant for her.

"Family of Temperance Brennan, please," the tall man called. His face was unreadable.

Without really thinking, Angela stepped up and followed the surgeon through the door and into a private room. He gestured for her to please have a seat, and she obliged.

He took off his cap silently, a gesture of respect, and Angela's heart plummeted. She added the details. The surgery was an hour and forty-five minutes from being finished. The doctor's scrubs were spattered with blood.

She was shaking with the dread of anticipation. His voice buzzed in her head. Had he offered her a glass of water?

Had he offered her news?

She didn't know, her head buzzed more loudly now. It began to feel effortlessly light.

The doctor moved his mouth, saying something, but Angela didn't hear it. More buzzing.

And then everything went dark.

* * *

Booth had laid down only for a few minutes. An hour, really, which he realized when he awoke and looked at the clock. It was nearly ten, according to the red, digital display of his alarm clock. He rubbed his eyes and silently chastised himself.

How could he sleep when his partner was lying, vulnerable, on an operating table?

And then her voice popped into her head. _There's nothing that you can do, Booth, it's irrational to just sit with nothing to do except convert oxygen and carbon dioxide and worry. _

He chuckled, knowing that she would be right. He checked his cell phone, seeing no missed calls. No news from Angela.

No news is good news.

He rolled out of bed. His clothes suddenly felt dirty, weighty on his back. Maybe a shower wouldn't be such a bad idea.

So he stripped, let the hot water pound down on his back, massaging his shoulders. It was warm, comforting, but he didn't want to stay there for too long. So he quickly finished up, wrapped a towel around his waist, and left the now steamy bathroom. He pulled on the first clean clothes that met him when he opened his drawers.

The shower had left him feeling better, refreshed. And his cell phone had remained silent.

No news is good news, he repeated to himself.

Several minutes later, he was back in his SUV and making his way back to the hospital. On the way he stopped for coffee and a breakfast sandwich at a takeout place to quell his grumbling protests of his stomach.

In what seemed like an eternity, he had reached the visitor's parking lot at the hospital and made his way inside and up to the surgical waiting room (after stopping at a nurse's station to ask for directions). Glancing around the room, his heart dropped. Nobody was there. Nobody that he knew, anyway. There were plenty of others anxiously awaiting the outcomes of surgery of their loved ones.

His face fell. Digging around in his pocket, he quickly withdrew his cell phone. Still nothing from Angela.

"Sir, please refrain from using cell phones here," came the voice of a receptionist behind a pane of glass that separated her from the rest of the waiting room. Booth could feel his aggression rising.

"I was checking the status of my partner, she's in surgery right now. At least, I think she is," he said, making his way over to the desk. "Would you be able to tell me? Her name is Dr. Temperance Brennan."

"Is she a surgeon?"

"No, she's the one having the surgery. She's a patient, she has a brain tumor." The receptionist shook her head.

"You're going to have to wait for the surgeon, like everyone else."

"But my friend Angela, she was supposed to tell me—"

"Maybe she took a restroom break," the receptionist said. "I don't know what to tell you."

"You could start by telling me my partner's condition."

"Which I don't know. I already told you, I have no idea what's going on with these patients. I'm sorry."

"Booth," He whipped around and saw Hodgins standing in the doorway. Booth rushed over to him.

"News?" He led him back through the hallway, making their way to the room in which Angela had been talking with the surgeon.

"Angela is in with the surgeon now. She fainted, and she's recovering from that now. They came to find me, and I thought I'd check to see if you were here yet." The stopped at a door, and Hodgins pushed it open.

It was a small room, with a loveseat and an armchair situated across from a polished wood desk. Angela lay on the couch, a damp towel on her head. Jack took his position at her side.

"More family?" The surgeon asked grimly. "Go ahead and have a seat, please," he invited.

Booth felt as though a rock had dropped into his stomach as he sank into the chair. Maybe he shouldn't have eaten before he came. He looked over at Angela, who was hardly in the position to receive news. Hodgins knelt near her, held her hand, made small talk to try to rouse her.

For the first time, he saw the bloodstains on his scrubs.

Temperance's blood.

He shook his head. She was a bone person, she didn't deal with the 'meaty' parts, refused to work if there was too much flesh or blood.

This wasn't right.

He massaged his temples with his hand, closed his eyes.

But all he could picture was her blood on the surgeon's clothing.

Dried on, a reddish brown.

He opened his eyes again and couldn't understand why everyone was looking at him.

His eyes grew moist, and he stared on in disbelief. His head, his world, was spinning.

This couldn't be happening.

"Oh, God."

* * *

Patience, young grasshopper. An update will happen soon. I promise you.

That's all she wrote, for now.

Please please let me know what you think, how I'm doing, etc. I love to get your feedback, even if it is negative. I would like to wait until I have 100 reviews before posting the next installment. That's, what, 17 more? Not too tough, friends.

Later, gators!


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Bones-related. Please don't sue me.

* * *

If I Should Fall—Chapter 8

* * *

"Call it."

The surgeon grit his teeth in frustration and disappointment.

"One more round of atrop—"

"No, Bill, call it." And he knew when he was defeated. He cast a glance over at the heart monitor, which had flatlined and was sounding in that single, loud tone. He reached over, clicking the monitor off.

"Time of death, 10:48 am. Go ahead and suture the wound, take those lines out for the family."

The post-op nurse walking by saw the surgeon pull off his cap in frustration.

"That's too bad," she said, shaking her head. "I hate losing them."

* * *

Everything was dark.

Enveloped in darkness. Hazy, heavy darkness.

Very slowly, senses began to return. The steady, slow beeping of a monitor. A rhythmic hissing, as if of breath. The faint shuffling of feet, quiet chatter.

Suddenly, she felt like she was choking, gagging. Tears welled in her eyes as they flew open in panic. She saw only dim lights, tape around her mouth and nose, as she struggled against asphyxiation.

"Hold on, hold on, calm down dear," came a sharp voice. A nurse materialized in front of Brennan's eyes. She wore a worried expression. "It's alright, please don't struggle. You were intubated because of the paralyzing effects of the anesthetic."

She tried to calm down, tried to slow her heart rate. But it was difficult. She wasn't used to submission. The nurse bustled around her.

"Well, the good news is that you look like you're up to breathing on your own again. I'm going to take this tube out, but I need you to help me. On the count of three, you need to give me a few good coughs, okay?" Brennan's eyes were stoic, wide, and told the nurse very clearly that she understood.

"Okay, on my count, one, two, three." Temperance knew the theory behind it, even in her heavily drug-induced state, but was unprepared for the removal of the breathing tube. She gave several choking coughs as the nurse quickly extracted the tube. "There, there, see? You did very well." She didn't even realize that she was crying until the nurse came back with a tissue and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. "Now you can breathe again."

For that, she was grateful. The nurse touched her hand reassuringly and disappeared from her side.

A warm weight pressed gently over her body. She squinted for a better glimpse. A warming blanket. She must have grown hypothermic in the operating room. But she didn't mind. She drew a sense of comfort from the warmth.

The lights here were dim, the noises more subtle, more muffled than before. But that could just be the drugs.

One thing that she could process, though, was that she was still alive.

With her chest rising and falling comfortably, she felt the soft, reassuring thump-thump deep within her chest. Or maybe she was imagining that, an after-effect of the drugs. She allowed herself to be lulled back to sleep by the warmth of the blanket and the steady metronome of her heartbeat.

* * *

A firm hand on her shoulder roused her from sleep. Followed by a female voice, elevated, containing a note of urgency.

"Temperance? Temperance, you have to breathe, honey."

She was breathing, she didn't understand why this person, probably a nurse, was making her. She couldn't open her eyes. Or didn't want to.

She was cold again, the comforting weight covering her body now absent. She shivered.

"Could somebody get a heating blanket over here? Her temp's dropping."

"Honey, you need to breathe."

She wanted to go back to sleep. There was still a haze looming in her head, the result of the painkillers. More strange voices.

"What's her pulse ox?"

"Hovering at 92."

"We're gonna have to intubate again if it falls below 91."

The warm weight was draped over her again. She felt more secure and at ease now.

"She's not breathing well. Think the paralytics from the anesthesia are still acting?"

"Most likely."

"Come on, Temperance, you have to breathe, sweetie."

She tried to take a strong breath, but her throat was too dry. She coughed and sputtered painfully.

"There you go, that's it. Just like that."

She tried for another deep breath. It was easier this time, but still draining. The drugs were still so strong, all she wanted to do was fall back to sleep.

Somebody was squeezing her hand. She squeezed back, a small gesture to tell whoever it was that she was still there.

The doctors would keep her breathing if they needed to.

And she let herself slip back into the abyss.

* * *

The next time she awoke, it was to muffled voices. It took her a moment to realize where she was.

The monitors, as always, steadily beeping. The fog in her head had lifted a little. The drugs were wearing off.

Once again, the absence of weight on her body told her that the heating blanket had been removed. And her bed was inclined again.

She took a slow, cautionary breath. On her own, no breathing machine. Her throat didn't feel as dry as it had before.

The hum of soft voices stopped abruptly. She could hear the beeping monitor quicken.

"Sweetie?" A female voice, Angela, she thought. She tried to open her eyes. Sunlight hit them harshly and she quickly closed them again.

"I'll pull the curtains," another voice said. A metallic whoosh, and she tried to open her eyes again. It was darker in the room. She blinked a few times in an effort to bring everything into focus.

"Sweetie? Oh, my God, I'm so glad that you're alright," Angela said. Her features swam before her eyes, and she blinked again. Angela was leaning over her, holding her hand carefully so as not to disturb the IV lines and monitors connected there.

"You gave us quite a scare, Dr. Brennan," Hodgins' voice came through this time. He stood behind Angela.

Brennan recognized that they were back in the room in which she had started last night. Her eyes drifted over to her bedside table. Jasper the pig and Parker's get well soon card were still there. It was reassuring.

"Don't try to talk yet, Brennan," Angela said. "You were intubated. Twice."

She opened her mouth to speak. Hodgins laughed.

"Typical, you tell her not to talk and she tries to talk. Seriously, Dr. B, just chill for a minute."

She swallowed in an attempt to moisten her throat.

"What time is it?" she asked. Her voice came out dry, raspy. Angela rolled her eyes at her best friend's stubbornness and reached for a yellow pitcher at the side of the bed. She poured what sounded like ice chips into the glass and tipped it to Brennan's lips. Brennan gave her a look, insisting on taking the glass herself. Her fine motor skills weren't quite up to snuff yet, as the few bits of ice that fell into her lap and began to melt soon attested.

"It's around 6 pm." Brennan sucked on the few bits of crushed ice that had reached her lips.

"Wasn't supposed to take that long," she said.

"Well, sweetie, that's what happens when you decide not to breathe and they have to keep you in surgical intensive care for hours beyond what you should have spent there." Brennan said nothing, handing the cup of ice chips back to Angela.

"Hey, look who's finally out of the woods," Brennan looked around to see Booth striding through the door, the familiar lopsided grin on his face.

"I don't know what that means."

"It means, Bones, that you are back with us."

"But I never left."

"Actually, Bones, you did." At these words, both Angela and Hodgins looked up at him, shooting warning glances. A strange silence hung between them. Brennan, more clearly out of the medicated fogginess of her head now, looked among the three of them.

"What does that mean?" Angela sighed visibly. "I'll get the doctor to tell me when he comes to do rounds, then, if you won't."

"You flatlined during the surgery," she said quickly, as if saying it faster would cause less pain of reliving the memory.

"My heart stopped?"

"Yeah, Bones, it did." His voice broke. "You were dead for 42 seconds." This news hit Brennan hard.

"How do you know…?"

"Dr. Laskey, your surgeon, debriefed us after you came out of surgery."

"It was really scary, you know, seeing him come out of that room covered in your blood."

"Well, of course there's going to be blood, it's a surgical procedure," Brennan said, her voice elevated slightly. She didn't intend for the words to come out defensively. The next time she spoke, she made a conscientious effort to soften her voice. "I'm fine, I'm right here." She gave them a halfhearted smile. "Thanks for being here."

"Seriously, Bren? Where else would we be?" Angela smiled at her, resting her hand affectionately on her friend's shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. The two of them shared a smile.

Then, as suddenly as it had come, the wave of energy that she had felt just moments ago disappear. Before she could stop herself, she let out a yawn, which she tried to hide behind her hand. It was clear, though, that none of her friends were convinced.

"You know, I think that we should let the good doctor here rest. Having your skull drilled into is very tiring, I'm sure," Booth said, smirking. Angela couldn't help but note the relief still evident in his voice that Brennan was safe, coherent, and had pulled through in one piece.

Angela seemed reluctant to leave her friend's side, though. Hodgins gently put his arm around her shoulders, guiding her out of the room. She threw a look over her shoulder at Brennan.

"I'm fine, Ange, go home. You've been here long enough." She still looked reluctant.

"Promise you'll call if I need anything at all?"

"Yes, I'm fine, I promise." She shot one last dubious glance at her best friend.

"Okay, sweetie, I'll see you soon." With a gentle guiding hand, Hodgins led Angela out of the room.

Booth still stood at the door, his hands in his pockets. His stance couldn't be exactly described as aggressive, but there was uncertainty in his posture. He cleared his throat.

"You're gonna be okay, Bones," he said. It was a simple statement rather than a question. As such, it didn't justify a response from her, but she knew Booth. He would want confirmation on something that he believed to be true.

"Yeah," she said, leaning back, exhausted, into the pillow on her bed. It was only then that she first noticed a pain at the back of her neck. She winced before she could stop herself.

"You okay?"

"Yes, Booth, I'm fine," she said, her tone infused with irritation in spite of herself. "The pain is to be expected. Don't worry about me." He nodded, looking a little hurt at her reaction.

"Okay. Call me if you need anything at all, alright?" he said, slowly backing out of the room. She needed a little bit of space, it had been a long ordeal so far. He nodded in affirmation.

She wanted to, but she didn't answer him. For the first time in a very long time, she simply lacked the energy to get the last word. She thought she heard the door close as she again closed her eyes and allowed sleep to envelop her.

Booth lingered at the door for a moment, taking one last glance at his sleeping partner, and the corners of his lips twitched upward in a smile.

She was safe.

* * *

Temperance Brennan never had been a heavy sleeper. Which is why, when the doctor came in to give Brennan her medication two hours later, she woke easily. After easily downing the pills and taking a sip of water, she cleared her throat.

"So do you have a report for me yet, Dr. Laskey?" The doctor chuckled.

"Of course, Temperance." He tossed the paper cup that she handed him into the garbage can, grabbed what she assumed to be her chart from the box on the door, and pulled up the bedside chair beside her.

The surgery had gone extremely well, finished ahead of schedule. The tumor had been completely excised with no trouble, and there was no obvious metastasis.

"You gave us a scare there, though, for a minute" he added.

"I was told that my heart stopped beating."

"Yes, for just over half a minute. But we were able to revive you," he said comfortingly. Brennan nodded objectively.

"And the second time?"

"What?"

"I flatlined a second time," she said, "according to my friends."

"Yes. We had some trouble with keeping you breathing post-op. You woke up too soon and fought the breathing tube, then decided to crash on us again," he explained. "We had to start over with the intubations. It was tough to find a balance with you, you can only give so much anesthetic before you risk heart failure."

"So when can I leave?" The doctor chuckled.

"Patience, young grasshopper,"

"I don't know what that means."

"You'll get out of here in due time. Just be patient, take some time and rest. You just had your skull drilled into and you died. Twice. Not even you can will your body to heal itself that fast." Brennan exhaled through her teeth and nodded.

"Okay," she said. "I know when I'm defeated and in this case I'm willing to defer to your expertise." The surgeon chuckled again. Brennan didn't understand why exactly he was laughing, but chose to overlook it.

"Further questions?"

"No."

"Okay, then, I'm going to get out of here for the night. If you need anything, don't hesitate to give the night nurse a buzz."

"Thank you again, Dr. Laskey."

"You're welcome, Temperance. Remember we have a follow-up next Saturday before you are discharged, and—"

"You're keeping me here a week?"

"Yep, and there's no use fighting it. Should give you plenty of time to catch up on your daytime soaps."

"I don't know what that means."

"Don't worry about it," Dr. Laskey said with a smile, rising from the chair and making his way to the door. "Have a good week, Temperance."

"But—" she started to call after him. But he was gone, the door almost entirely closed behind him.

She let out a breath of frustration and tried to cross her arms out of habit, but soon realized that the IV hookup and monitors connected to her arm would make that difficult. Settling for having only one arm draped over her abdomen, she looked around. The sun had all but set by now.

Out of curiosity, she tested her range of motion in her head. Which she established to be near zero, probably because the injury in her case was to the base of the skull and they'd had to use a foam collar for stabilization. With nothing else to do, she picked up the remote at the side of bed and flipped on the television. The channel was showing an old Audrey Hepburn movie, and deciding it would do, she set down the remote.

As if on cue, there was a rhythmic rapping at the door.

"Come on in, Booth." He entered the room with a small bouquet of bright yellow daffodils and an expression that conveyed hesitation. "What's with that face?"

"What face?"

"You're faltering."

"What?"

"You look unsure about being here."

"Since when can you read emotions? I'm the heart guy, remember?"

"Like you're the only one who has the ability to discern neurolinguistics."

"You, Dr. Brennan," Booth said, shaking his head in disbelief as he entered the room. "Are truly unbelievable. You are the only woman I know who can have her skull drilled into and still have the energy to bicker with me at the end of the day."

They shared a smile and grew quiet. Booth sat in the familiar chair at Brennan's bedside.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier, it was unwarranted."

"You were heavily drugged, you don't have to apologize," she opened her mouth to say something else, but he cut her off. "But thank you." There was a momentary silence.

"Did you have to exploit a cripple for those, too?" she asked, indicating the flowers with her unfettered hand.

"Nope, got these ones fair and square." Booth set them on the bedside table.. Brennan strained her eyes as far as she could to see the flowers without moving her head.

"I don't have a vase here," she said.

"So I'll bring one tomorrow." Brennan tilted her head slightly to the side and very subtly pursed her lips.

"You don't have to do that."

"Hey, you're gonna be here for a while. Might as well add a little décor." He smiled at her. There was a short, comfortable silence as Booth adjusted the bedside chair to better face his partner.

"So how bad do I look?" A contemplative look came over Booth's face as he surveyed his partner.

Her head was fully bandaged in clean, white gauze to the extent that her hair wasn't visible. She was in a loose, thick foam collar, probably to prevent her from rotating her head too much and pulling out her stitches. She still wore the blue-and-white print hospital gown. Her face, which had carried a healthy glow just last night, had grown wan from fatigue, and faint purple shadows began to appear underneath her eyes. Her eyes, which were as sparkling, clear and intelligent as he had always known her to be.

"Not bad at all," he said.

And even though she didn't quite believe it, she accepted his answer with a small smile.

"Want some company?"

"Sure, if you want."

And both settled back, comfortable in each other's presence, and watched as Audrey Hepburn waltzed across the screen in a white chiffon dress.

* * *

Wow! I'm sorry to keep you waiting, I totally wasn't expecting to get almost 20 reviews in 4 hours. I hope this chapter was satisfactory for you.

Thanks for the reviews…keep it up! I love your feedback.

So, as always, that's what she wrote. For now.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Bones-related. Just borrowing. Please don't sue me.

* * *

If I Should Fall—Chapter 9

* * *

"Oh, come on, sweetie," Angela said with exasperation as she entered the familiar confines of the hospital room. "Please tell me that you aren't seriously working right now."

Brennan looked up from the screen of her laptop to see that Angela was bustling around the room, pulling the window curtains and cracking the window open for a little fresh air. She noticed that, in addition to an ivy-colored tunic, her friend wore a very clear 'you've-got-to-be-kidding-me' look.

"With all of the spare time I have now, I thought it would be advantageous to begin work on my next novel," she said. "My publishers are very persistent."

"Well, in all fairness, they also probably don't know that you're out of commission with brain cancer."

"Point of fact, the tumor has been removed, so technically no more brain cancer unless it has metastasized, which according to Dr. Laskey is statistically improbable."

"Ugh, stop fighting me on this one, please," she said, sitting in one of the chairs at the bedside and crossing her legs. "I think you need to get out of this hospital."

"I'm not scheduled to be discharged until Saturday." Brennan looked at her friend, shutting the top of her laptop.

"I'm not talking blowing this popsicle stand, I'm thinking that we should just go out, across the road to the park. Just for an hour or two, so that we can get you back into the world, see the beauty of life instead of just the cold, drab aura of this room."

"This room is quite warm, and the sunlight makes it brighter. I'm just fine right here." Angela looked like she would put up a fight, but it was a mark of their friendship that she simply accepted Brennan's answer. Searching her eyes revealed that her friend was not entirely telling the truth, but she wasn't about to pry on this one.

"Okay," she said resolutely. There was a pause as Angela rose to set a floral arrangement on the shelf near the window. "Here, these are from me and Hodgins. We thought you could use a little more color to speed up your road to recovery." Brennan simply smiled, computer still on her lap.

"Thank you," she said, a smile crossing her lips at the kindness. Angela's eyes suddenly danced with mischief.

"So," she began, "Booth brought the daffodils?"

"Yes, they are my favorite flower." This elicited a smirk from Angela.

"He remembered that?"

"Booth has a very good memory."

"Yes, he does," Angela said, her voice laced with an unidentifiable emotion. And before Brennan had a chance to pick up on it, a nurse entered the room. This one had a pale face, high cheekbones and a lot of wavy red hair that looked as though it had to be forcibly wrangled into the clip that held it, half-up, at the back of her head. She carried a garish yellow plastic tray in her arms and smiled politely at Angela.

"Good afternoon, Lydia," Brennan greeted the smiling nurse.

"Hello, Dr. Brennan. How are you?" She pulled up the small table that hovered over Brennan's lap and set the tray on it.

"My head feels more normal, and I am a little anxious missing so much at work," she said, "but other than that, I'm doing quite well under the circumstances."

"Good to see you have company, though," the kind nurse said, nodding in Angela's direction.

"Oh, sorry, Lydia, this is my friend Angela Montenegro. Angela, Lydia Domagolo, she's one of the day nurses on this floor." The two women exchanged congenial smiles.

"It's nice to meet you, Angela," she said. "If you need anything, Dr. Brennan, just buzz." With another warm smile, she left the room. Brennan pulled the lid off of the tray to reveal a turkey sandwich, apple slices, pretzels and a plastic container of vanilla pudding.

"Lunch?" Angela asked.

"Yes," she responded. "Would you like something?" Angela made a face at the food.

"No thanks," she said. "I already ate." Brennan shrugged and nibbled on an apple slice.

"So how are things at the Jeffersonian?" Angela rolled her eyes.

"They are the same as they always are. You know, tomorrow I'm going to smuggle you in some sushi."

"That would be inadvisable," Brennan said, beginning on another apple slice. "It is important that the medical professionals monitor my nutrient intake for as long as I am under their care."

"I'll call and let them know. Seriously, don't worry about work. We have that Shubert homicide case at the end of the week, and Caroline is not happy about you being in here, but it will be fine. The rest of us will be there to cover for you."

"You know I'd rather be there."

"Yes, and that is why I worry about you."

"Why?" Angela gave a long, drawn-out sigh and settled back into her chair.

"You are being faced with a life-threatening illness. For one second, sweetie, just listen," she said as Brennan opened her mouth. She closed it again, continuing to chew the bit of apple in her mouth. "I am telling you that this is a really, really good, much-needed opportunity for you to slow down, take a deep breath, and look around at life. It's out there, see?" She gestured out the open window.

"Yes, I see," Brennan said, using a lot of self-control to keep from rolling her eyes. "Angela, why does my love of my work bother you so much?"

"Because, Bren, even if you pour your heart and soul into your work, no matter how much you love it, your job isn't going to love you back. Life, though… If you take the time to enjoy, and live, and love your life, it will return the sentiment, and it will all be worth it."

Brennan looked into her friend's eyes and tried to let what she had said sink in and make sense. She nodded, but said nothing.

"Does it count if I'm living my life through enjoying my work?"

"No."

"But by inductive reasoning—"

"Okay, never mind, I give up," Angela said, throwing up her hands in a signal of defeat. "No, no I don't give up. When you are through this, Bren, I am taking you out. We'll go up to the Hamptons some weekend, we will wear tiny bikinis and play volleyball and go to bars and dance and flirt shamelessly with men that we know we'll never see again. And one day, maybe a very long time from now, but one day nevertheless, you will look back and you will thank me." There was a brief pause.

"I don't wear bikinis."

"I love you, too."

* * *

Temperance Brennan was one of those people who many times shared striking similarity to wild mustangs. Not, of course, the strictly equine component. More in the realm where mustangs feel their most free and happy when they are allowed to run unfettered through miles of open prairie without the constraints of societal order constantly bearing down on them. Sure, she liked the order of things. She liked having a distinctly defined purpose to her life.

But like the fiery-spirited painted wild mustangs, she abhorred the restrictions of confinement.

For this reason, the next week was a crucible of patience for her.

Most days were the same. She woke early, ate the meals served in a timely manner by whoever happened to be the day nurse or hospital volunteer to whom the task had been delegated, received her medication and a status report, had her bandages checked and changed, sometimes she'd watch TV or work on her novel or read. Then she went to bed and started again the next day.

Every day, without fail, Angela would swing by after work at the Jeffersonian to visit. A few times, Zack, Cam, and Hodgins, and even Caroline showed up, too (Caroline had gone off on Brennan for 'allowing that dang carcinoma to go ahead and poke it's way into your pretty little head in light of our upcoming murder trial'). Even Dr. Sweets came once, on a Wednesday evening, because Brennan had insisted that they do things as normally as possible, which meant partnership observation with Booth, much to his dismay.

Thursday had been her most delightful time there, when Amy and the girls paid a visit, complete with a tiny stuffed bear and handmade get-well cards. It had been nice to see the three of them, whom Brennan had come to regard as family. The two little girls had shown her how to make friendship bracelets, each girl making one for Brennan and helping her to tie them to her wrists to, as they explained it, distract her from the hospital ID bracelet. Hailey especially had taken a liking to her Auntie Temperance, making a special effort to read to her from _The Wind in the Willows_.

"You read to me when I was sick, so I'm reading to you, too," Hailey had told her, a grin warming her brown eyes. So the little girls had snuggled up to her as Hailey read with occasional help on the more difficult words.

After a time, it became difficult for Hailey to continue through her yawns. Persistent Emma had taken over reading the story of Mr. Toad while her little sister slept beside Brennan on the bed, Amy seated in the chair at the bedside.

That was how Booth found them when he came to visit as Emma was reading. He knocked softly on the door, heard the small voice pause mid-sentence, and his partner called softly.

"Come in."

And, as he had done around that time each day that week, Booth came into her room. His face glowed seeing Brennan there, enjoying familial company with her nieces and Amy. She looked healthier by the day; today, her hair was out of the bandages, clean and shining as it cascaded over her shoulders, and a handful of her monitors and intravenous lines had been removed since the day of the surgery.

Emma looked between them as if to ask whether she should continue to read, and Brennan smiled and nodded in affirmation. Booth settled himself in the other bedside chair silently, sharing a smile with Amy, and listened as Emma read on.

"'There you are!' cried the Toad, expanding himself. 'There's real life for you, embodied in that little cart. The open road, the dusty highway, the heath, the common, the hedgerows, the rolling downs! Here to-day, up and off to somewhere else to-morrow! Travel, change, interest, excitement! The whole world before you, and a horizon that's always changing!'" Emma paused, looking up at Brennan.

"Do you want to read at all?" she asked, wide eyes peering up at her.

"Are you tired?" A nod from Emma confirmed her suspicions.

"Okay, I can keep going." Brennan started to accept the book as Emma handed it to her, but Amy cut her off.

"Oh, no, baby," she said, standing. "I can handle getting one sleeping girl back to the car, but not two."

"But Mom."

"Emma, we can come back and visit Temperance another day, okay?" The 9-year-old got a dejected look on her face, but she knew not to protest.

"Okay." She turned to Brennan again. "Thank you for having us," she said politely.

"Thank you so much for coming to keep me company. You read beautifully," she said, giving Emma a hug before the little girl hopped down from the bed. "Thanks so much for bringing them, Amy." Amy smiled.

"Of course. I'm glad that we could come and keep you company, even for just a little while."

After Amy had gathered the sleeping Hailey into her arms and Emma had thrust the book into Brennan's arms, insisting that she should finish the story if she needed something to do, the three of them left the room in silence. Brennan and Booth shared a smile of greeting.

"Hey," she said, tucking a slip of paper into the worn book to keep her place.

"Hey. _Wind in the Willows_? Parker loves when I read him that story."

"Most children do. It's a very disambiguous tale that examines four heavily anthropomorphized characters in pastoral England notable for its mysticism and adventure. Parts of it are really quite enthralling." Booth chuckled and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm surprised that you know so much about it."

"I did quite a lot of reading throughout my youth and adolescence."

"No surprise there." He smiled. "You look much better today."

"One of the nurses last night was bored, and I convinced her to help me wash my hair," she said, "and you said I looked good before."

"No, I said you didn't look bad," he said, one side of his mouth twitched up in a smirk. "So how's this place treating you? You okay?"

"I am being treated the same way as I was yesterday when you asked. And I have told you time and again, I am fine." He nodded, and a brief silence hung between them for a moment. "Oh, I almost forgot. I saved this for you."

With a brief smile of mystery in his direction, she reached over to her bedside table and wrapped her fingers around the small, lidded plastic cup and spoon she knew sat there. With a small flourish, she brandished the cup of pudding in her hand and held it out for Booth.

"Pudding! Yes! You, Bones," he said, eagerly taking the cup from her and pulling the top off, "are the absolute best partner that a man could ask for. Mmmmm." There was a look of exaggerated bliss on his face as he dug the spoon into the pudding and savored the mouthful of sweet, creamy treat. Brennan grinned at him.

"Enjoy that while it lasts, I had to get one of the volunteers to smuggle it out of the kitchen. She's a big fan of my books." She smiled at him, tilting her head to the side and raising one of her eyebrows in mischief.

"Unbelievable."

"What, the pudding?"

"No, the fact that you actually pulled strings for this cup of glory," he said, holding up the pudding. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Did not, I simply asked politely."

"You pulled strings." She chuckled.

"Only for you, Booth." For a reason unknown to her, the smile half-slipped from his face and his eyes grew more serious. "And I mean that in a completely camaradic, jovial manner." He nodded, sitting back in his chair and glancing around the room. Brennan's eyes followed his as his gaze fixed on the cards that Emma and Hailey brought for her.

"I'm glad to see that you're bonding with your nieces."

"They aren't my nieces."

"They might as well be, you're Auntie Temperance to them," he smiled. "And don't deny it, I've seen the evidence."

"Evidence?"

"The little one fell asleep curled up next to you, the other one reading to you, the handmade cards… for someone who never wanted kids, you sure are a natural with them."

"I didn't say that I've never wanted kids," she said, dropping her gaze, caught a little off-guard by the comment and realizing a little too late the questions that her partner could ask now. But the questions never came. The next time that their eyes met, hers were tentative, but his were warm and devoid of meddling. He simply nodded and overlooked it.

"Speaking of kids, I have Parker tomorrow," he said, sitting a little straighter now. "And he wants to come and visit you to cheer you up, if you don't mind. Keep in mind that I have no idea what he has planned, but he's glad you're feeling better." She cocked her head to one side again.

"How does Parker know how I'm doing?" Booth shrugged.

"He's my son, Bones, I talk to him on the phone, probably more than I actually see him," try as he might, he could not hide the note of bitterness in his voice. "Anyway, he asked about you."

"He's a good kid, Booth," she said, smiling. Booth finished the last of his pudding, absentmindedly fiddling with the plastic cup

"I'm going to take that as a yes, then."

"A yes to what?"

"To Parker coming to visit."

"Of course."

So the following evening, Brennan wasn't at all surprised when she looked up from her laptop to find Parker standing at the doorway, holding a mylar balloon that depicted a very large, yellow smiley face in front of his head. She couldn't help but chuckle.

"Hi, Dr. Bones!" He exclaimed.

"Hey, Parker," she said as Booth stepped around his son and came into the room. Parker removed the balloon from in front of his face, revealing his crestfallen expression.

"How did you know it was me?" he asked, disappointed that his identity had been discovered.

"You are the only one who calls me Dr. Bones," she said simply. There were other reasons, too, more obvious ones, but one glance at Booth and she decided to play along with Parker.

"Dad does," he said, making his way over to his father and climbing into his lap.

"No, your dad calls me Bones. Between the two of us, I like Dr. Bones better. It's more respectful." Parker looked at his father, triumph shining on his face.

"See?"

"Oh, now you're just ganging up on me," Booth said, a playful grin on his face.

"Well, I am the one with the doctorate."

"There goes that ego again."

"What's a doctrated?" Parker asked.

"Doctorate," Brennan corrected the little boy without thinking.

"It's when somebody studies something very, very hard for years and years of their lives," Booth explained. Brennan gave him a look, but chose to say nothing.

"No wonder you work in a museum!" Parker exclaimed. "You're really smart."

"That's true," she replied.

"And so modest, too," Booth added with a jovial smirk. "Hey Parker, remember what we brought for Dr. Brennan?" He looked at his partner with a playful grin and her eyes bored into his quizzically.

"Oh, yeah," he said, jumping down off of his father's lap in order to dig into the pocket of his pants, retrieving a simple deck of cards. "My dad said that your dad taught you a really fun card game. Can you teach me?" His eyes looked up into hers and he gave her a smile. It was a miniature version of Booth's charm smile, and she returned it.

"Sure," she said, nodding. "I can teach you."

Parker beamed at her. She reached around and pulled the lap table over so that it sat between her and Parker, and he knelt up on the unoccupied chair to face her, taking the cards out of the box and handing them to Brennan to shuffle.

* * *

And that's all she wrote. For now.

Your feedback is always appreciated, so please review!

Thank you so much for being loyal readers and excellent reviewers. I really appreciate it!!


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Bones-related. Please don't sue me.

* * *

If I Should Fall—Chapter 10

* * *

It was a relief to be back at the lab.

For Dr. Brennan, the Jeffersonian often felt more like home than her own apartment. It was, as Booth had once put it, a house of reason, a place where her own values and beliefs thrived unquestioned.

After being discharged from the hospital on Saturday, she spent only enough time at her apartment to take a shower and pull on a fresh set of clothing before heading over to the lab. Because everyone (to her extreme irritation) had refused to bring her any work to do during her painfully soporific time at the hospital, she had wanted to go in and check her messages and see if she could catch up with any work.

It was mid-afternoon when she had arrived. She found her office just as she had left it, save for the mailbox at her door that was nearly overflowing with messages, many from Cam. Unlocking the door to her office, she gathered the neglected notices and transferred them to her desk, organizing them into a neat stack.

As she carefully read and answered each notice, her mind went back to what Angela had told her earlier in the week. _Your job won't love you back_. At the time, the artist's words had struck Brennan. They had, in their own capacity, made sense to her.

But as she sat here, pondering the long-spoken words, a shred of doubt worked its way into her mind.

Regardless of what Angela said, her job to her was far from unsatisfactory. Brennan paused in thought, an interdepartmental memo clutched in one hand. It didn't matter to her whether she was directly thanked for each minute task that she accomplished in the course of her job.

She didn't do it for that.

There was a face on every skull brought into the lab, a life partially lived radiating through each bone that she examined. And the feeling of immense gratification that she felt when one more dehumanizing murderer who had the gall to strip innocents of their identities, to leave them dead thinking that nobody would know who they were or what had happened to them, when she knew she had a hand in putting someone like that away, she felt a deep sense of fulfillment.

It was a sense of fulfillment that nothing could replace. Maybe that was why she had taken such a liking to break free of the lab every once in a while as an FBI consultant, going out into the field with Booth. For whatever reason, the satisfaction achieved by the neutralization of the culprit was heightened after she had taken up involvement in the field.

Angela was wrong, she told herself.

She knew that there was appreciation and gratitude that came each time she was able to give these victims of homicide back their faces, to provide their relatives with a sense of closure, a comforting denouement.

Even though maybe the job itself didn't return the passion that she had for it, the fact that she was helping to serve some sort of justice against the cruel things that happened in this world and the vile people who did them was enough for her. It kept her going, fueled her passion and drive.

She didn't need the job to love her back.

She didn't do it for that.

She smiled to herself, satisfied, as she picked up the next memo.

* * *

He didn't know why he had agreed to meet them at the diner at all. Sure, like Cam said, he had to eat sometime. It was dinner, and it was the diner. It was a celebratory dinner, in honor of Brennan's being released from the hospital.

He exhaled a stream of air between his teeth with a very low whistle and parked his car across the street. That was a lie. He knew exactly why he'd agreed to go.

It was Bones. He had to be there.

When he'd first begun to work with Brennan's team at the Jeffersonian, the Squint Squad, as he'd affectionately nicknamed them, his patience had been tried. It had been a challenging process to learn how to decipher their language and the systematics of their communication, but he had eventually learned to tolerate the scientists. It had been nice to have Angela there, as the non-scientist, because it had been easy to observe her and through her actions to be able to learn how to interact effectively with the rest of them.

Booth cut the engine and took a moment to glance up the street before, when the coast was clear, he opened the door and stepped out into the warm air of the early evening. He closed the door of the SUV behind him and began to cross the road.

It was the last place that he had expected to find a sense of camaraderie, but then again, his time working investigations with Brennan had been full of surprises. Through her, he had bonded with her team. True, his relationship with Zack left something to be desired, but he was a weird kid, a squint.

Especially after Cam had joined the team, each day with them and they began to feel more and more like family. Granted, they were an eccentric group. Even a bunch of downright weirdos. But they were his weirdos (though Brennan would fiercely deny that any of them were his direct property).

_Hey, Bones, there's more than one kind of family_. He had said that himself once, a long time ago.

Their bonds had grown impossibly strong, and that truth had shown with breathtaking lucidity through their trials, the apex with Brennan's illness.

He approached the window of the diner and saw them all gathered there, at the opposite end of the restaurant. Two tables had pulled together to accommodate them all. Seven chairs surrounded the table, but two were empty.

To his dismay, he saw that Sweets had come to the diner as well, and was seated between Zack and Angela. For a moment, he simply stood there, watching. Brennan and Sweets were arguing about something, it appeared. Angela sat doodling something on her placemat with Hodgins' arm around her waist, and the two of them rolled their eyes seemingly at the banter that was taking place. Zack simply sat and observed, occasionally adding a word to the conversation.

A hand on his shoulder made him flinch, and he turned his head to find himself face-to-face with Cam. She raised an eyebrow.

"So are you going to go inside or just lurk out here and be creepy?" she asked him, the corner of her lip giving the hint of a smirk.

"Yeah, I'm coming."

The hum of chatter and clinking china and cutlery within the diner masked the sound of the tinkling bells as the two of them entered. It was Zack who first noticed them and grinned, waving them over.

"No, Sweets, because as a psychologist, what you do is apply one commonly accepted set of theoretical assumptions to a blanket group of widely varying subjects based solely on one externally observable behavior that isn't even quantifiable," she said, her back to Booth. He grinned as Sweets was trying to come up with a retort and removed his jacket, draping it over the back of the seat beside Brennan.

"Hello, Agent Booth," Sweets said as Booth sat down, a defiant expression on his face. Booth detected a glint of defeat in the kid's eyes.

"You cannot use Booth's entrance as a way to divert my attention from the conversation," Brennan told him, taking the opportunity to take a sip of her coffee and realizing that it was cooling quickly.

"It seems to be working just fine."

"You know, Sweets," Booth began, settling back in his chair. He started to drape his arm around the back of his partner's chair, but faltered and let his arm drop back onto the table at her gaze. "You should really stop arguing with Bones about stuff like this because, well," he paused and chuckled, "you're gonna lose."

"Every time," Brennan said, raising her eyebrow in triumph.

"Every time," Booth confirmed.

The waitress game by upon Booth's and Cam's arrivals and took their drink orders before promising to return soon for the dinner requests.

"What, Booth, no pie?" Sweets asked. "You always get pie."

"I'm waiting until after dinner to get pie."

"Interesting," he said, squinting ever so slightly from Booth to Brennan.

"No, Sweets, it's not interesting, it's normal," Booth said. Sweets remained unconvinced.

"Okay, seriously? I know that you're brilliant, but if you don't cut the psychoanalysis ASAP, I'm going to personally drag you to the door by the ear," Cam said as the waitress set a cup of coffee down in front of her. Brennan crossed her arms smugly, and both her and Booth shot Sweets identical smirks.

"So now that the tumor has been successfully excised, Dr. Brennan, when will you be returning to the hospital to receive your chemotherapy treatments?" Booth glared at Zack when he asked the question. But Brennan was unfazed.

"Saturday."

"Enough, Zack."

"I am simply trying to gain a more thorough understanding of Dr. Brennan's condition."

"I'm sure that if Bones wanted you to have a thorough understanding, she would explain everything to you herself."

"Seriously, kids, let's take it to the playground," Angela said, finally looking up from the placemat and tucking the marker back into her bag. Recognizing that she was finished, Hodgins glanced down at the placemat.

"That is not cool, Angie," he said, "seriously not cool." Angela only smiled at him and planted a kiss on his cheek. She folded the paper placemat in half and handed it to Zack, who opened it curiously and smiled.

"Thank you, Angela," he said.

"What is it, Zack?" Brennan asked encouragingly. He unfolded the thin paper placemat and held it out to her.

"Zack, King of the Lab," Booth read over her shoulder. For once, she found that she didn't mind his peering over her at the playful caricature of her assistant. Cam, too, peered over and laughed.

"Nicely done, Angela," she said, which caused Hodgins' eyes to show just a hint of pouting.

"He's not _always_ the king of the lab."

"But he has been for five straight cases," Cam said. "Face it, Hodge-Podge, you are in the process of being surpassed." At this, he glared at her indignantly. "Don't worry, I won't fire you."

They laughed and chattered jovially, happily, until their meals sat, half-eaten, on the table. Booth had managed, once again, to put his arm around the back of Brennan's chair, and this time she didn't object. They were protective of each other, she cognized, and their partnership depended on it.

She quieted for the first time that night, silently observing the group surrounding her. She was an anthropologist, after all, and making herself invisible to the persons whom she was observing was an integral part of her job. So Brennan watched Angela sneak a French fry off of Hodgins' plate as he pretended not to notice, Cam and Booth having a lively discussion, and Zack carefully transferring his pickle spear to Sweet's plate per request.

It was nice to have them there. For that, she was grateful.

Booth's hand, still draped over the back of her chair, moved to gently nudge her shoulder, and she turned to face him with an inquisitive expression on her face.

"You okay, Bones?" He looked into her eyes, searching them. From across the table, Sweets took an interest in their interaction. Neither noticed.

"Yes," she nodded. "I'm fine."

He caught the flash of uncertainty in her eyes, but chose not to rush her. Pressing Bones for information, he knew, did not generally have positive results.

But they didn't really have time to continue the conversation, because it was then that the bells on the door tinkled again and a commanding voice took hold of them.

"You are in big trouble, Cherie," came the voice of Caroline Julian from behind Brennan. They turned and Booth quickly removed his arm from Brennan's chair. Caroline had that look on her face, like one of them had done something stupid and now she had to pay the price.

"To which 'Cherie' are you referring?" Cam asked, but there really was no need. Her fiery eyes were directly pointed in Brennan's direction.

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Stop trying to act all innocent, I know what you're capable of by this time."

"Please explicate your quandary," Brennan asked, calmly but uncertainly. Caroline rolled her eyes dramatically.

"I'm gonna go ahead and assume that that's your egg-headed way of asking me to spill it."

"Spill what?" asked Zack from across the table.

"Not now, Zack," Angela said.

"I'm giving you 30 seconds," she said dangerously, "to explain to me why you didn't think to inform your family of your illness and why your father is currently threatening to break out of his lil' prison cell to come find you."

"Wait, what?"

"What?"

"What do you mean, 'what'?" Caroline asked. "Cherie, I want you to simply answer the question."

"Caroline, my father is in prison,"

"This I know,"

"I thought it best not to say anything. He is not in the position to affect the situation in any way, so I left him out of it." Brennan looked around and realized that everyone was simply looking at her.

"You mean to tell me that you have a fatal disease and you chose not to tell your dear old dad about it? Seeley Booth, put that chair back where it was. If I'd wanted to sit down, I would have asked for the chair, but in this situation, I would much prefer to loom ominously." Booth slid the chair that he had pulled over for the attorney back to its original position at the table behind them.

"Point of fact, _had_, past tense, and it wasn't fatal," she said, growing visibly tense under Caroline's stare. "And you are correct, I did not tell my dad about what was going on."

"Can we cut to the chase, please?" Booth asked, his eyes jumping between Brennan and Caroline.

"Your daddy wants to see you."

"You don't get to make that call." Caroline rolled her eyes.

"Your brother's girlfriend stopped in to visit him—"

"But I thought—"

"—She asked me to get her clearance. And she had a little chat with Max. He's upset that his baby girl didn't tell him that she was sick. He's one emotional convict."

"He hasn't been convicted of anything."

"That detail aside, he wants to see you." It was only now that Booth caught sight of a white envelope that Caroline held in her hand. "He wrote you a letter. I was asked to get it to you, and I am very good at my job. Mind you, I am not okay with being ordered around by a felon, but, Cherie, I like you. So here you go," she said. The envelope was brandished with a flourish.

Brennan took the letter from Caroline's outstretched hand with an unreadable expression on her face. _Tempe_, it read in simple writing on the front. She folded the envelope and tucked it into her pocket.

"You're not gonna read it?"

"Not now." A heavy silence hung over them, nobody quite sure what to say.

"Want something to drink, Caroline?" Booth asked in an attempt to smooth over the tension.

"No, I'd best be going anyhow. Enjoy the rest of your little shindig here. Dr. Brennan?"

"Yes?"

"I don't want an outlaw on my tail." She said, tucking her purse back over her shoulder. "Have a good evening, all of you." With that, she turned and left. Brennan turned back to the rest of the team.

"I don't know what she means."

"Sweetie, write to your father," Angela said encouragingly. "Caroline knows that if you don't, your father will be after her to get a response out of you."

"Oh," she said, understanding. "Since when does a federal prosecutor heed the request of a murderer?"

"She likes you," Cam said. "Don't question it."

And so she didn't. The rest of the evening was mostly uneventful. After another hour of coffee, pie, and jovialities, the team began to part ways, one by one. Hodgins and Angela had to be home, which meant that Zack went as well. Sweets left abruptly when his emergency pager sounded, and Cam said something about a date with a mud mask.

It ended with the two of them. That's the way it always was.

Neither seemed quite ready to leave for their own apartments, so they moved over to their usual table by the window, alerting the waitress and taking their coffee cups with them. Sitting down, Brennan noticed that Booth was staring at her.

"Oh, don't give me that look," she said, taking a sip of her coffee. It was growing cold again. She would have to let the waitress know the next time she came around.

"What look?" he asked.

"That look you give me when you think I'm hiding something from you." He didn't deny it, just let the silence grace over them for several seconds more.

"You should really open that letter." She eyed him.

"Why?"

"Because it wouldn't hurt you to show your own father a little bit of courtesy."

"Again, I'm going to ask why."

"Look, we've been over this. Your father is risking conviction just to be with you. That's—that's big, Bones."

"You don't know that," she said quietly. She absentmindedly took a sip of her coffee. It was very much cold. Where was that waitress?

"I was there when he was arrested."

"Because you were the one that arrested him!"

"Ha! You see? You _are_ upset that I arrested your father.

"I am not, I was simply stating an objective fact and offering an explanation."

"You're upset."

"Am not."

"Are too," Booth said, "and you know what else? He could have put up more of a fight. But he didn't, Bones. He loves you."

"I seem to recall telling you that this is none of your business."

"You see," Booth said, setting his cup down and leaning in toward her. "I've been thinking about that line. And I don't buy it. It is my business for two reasons. I arrested Max Keenan. The reason for his arrest is troubling you. You are my partner. Ergo, if this is a potential threat to our working environment, then it is my business." Brennan was silent for a moment.

"The reason for his arrest is that he killed a man who was coming after Russ."

"And he let me arrest him. For you. Because you are his daughter and he loves you."

"Okay," Brennan said, nodding slowly. "I accept your logic."

"Thank you."

There was a lull in the conversation as both sat in silence and allowed the waitress to refill their coffee cups. Booth brought the cup to his lips too quickly, his eyes tearing as the searing coffee hit his tongue.

"That's hot," she said, amused.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious."

"Who is that?"

"Never mind, Bones. Never mind." She nodded and blew evenly over her own coffee in an attempt to cool it.

"I wouldn't have done that," she said quietly, suddenly sounding ashamed.

"What?"

"Allowed myself to be put in prison for my father. Does that make me a terrible person?"

"No, Bones. It doesn't." He sighed and swallowed before proceeding. "Your reactions are understandable. It has to be hard to find out that your father, somebody that you loved and trusted with all of your heart, not only lied to you for your entire life, lied to you about his job, about being alive, that he also killed a man in your apartment. Then he took off again. If I had my heart ripped out that many times, I would build up a wall too."

Brennan was quiet. She knew that it was probably true. She hated psychology and anything to do with it. But right now, it wasn't a series of lucky guesses. It was Booth. He knew her, knew more about her than she had let anyone except Angela know for a long time. And when it was him talking, it was him knowing her so well that the psychological process was rendered unnecessary.

"I'm not as callous and insensitive as everybody says," she said softly, looking down at her own reflection in the stillness of her coffee cup.

"Hey," Booth said, leaning in closer to her. "I know that, Bones. I know."

When she lifted her chin up to meet his gaze at last, her eyes held a look he didn't think he'd ever seen in them before. They were clear, as blue as ever, but now they were warm, unguarded, trusting. They shared the intimate gaze for only a moment.

She exhaled slowly and tore her eyes away from his, pulling the envelope out of the pocket of her jacket and carefully tore it open. Booth watched her face for a reaction as her clear eyes flickered over the folded sheet of yellow notebook paper, torn hurriedly from a legal pad. Wordlessly, she looked up for a moment, and reread the note.

She held it, not looking at it, for a second. She silently passed it over to Booth, who glanced down. He was surprised to see only one sentence scrawled across the page.

_Tempe,_

_I'm still here for you._

_Love, Dad._

* * *

That's all she wrote, for now.

Just for clarification, and because I began this story before it happened, I'm going to pretend that the major plot elements from WitW and PitH (the 2 most recent episodes) have not occurred.

Please review! I love you all every day for it!


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone that you recognize from anywhere other than this story.

* * *

If I Should Fall—Chapter 11

* * *

_Alkylating antineoplastic agents. _

The glimmering morning sunlight poured in through the window of the all-too-familiar room.

_Vinca alkaloids and taxanes._

An unopened novel sat, its binding uncreased, in her lap. It had been #2 on the New York Times bestseller's list the week her first novel had hit #3 after its publication.

_Topoisomerase inhibitors._

Angela was sitting next to her, leaning over onto the bed and clutching her hand painfully.

_Podophyllotoxin_.

Its packaging could have been easily mistaken for regular saline or nutrients. Except for the insulation on the bag. It was, she posited, simply a prevention measure for photolabile degeneration of the chemicals that it contained.

_Adjuvant chemotherapy_. That's what it was called when the treatments were more of a preventative measure than an eradication technique against existing cancer cells. And this was how Brennan was being treated today.

At least she wouldn't have to stay the night here. Not if she didn't want to.

She would be weak and tired, more ill than she had felt throughout this whole ordeal, the new oncologist told her. Dr. Lisa Bailey, a slim woman with delicate features, short, curly brown hair and dark, intelligent eyes. She was rational and intelligent, and Brennan had taken an instant to her.

She would not want to go home alone.

Brennan had listened, and at first had opted to stay at the hospital overnight. But Angela simply wouldn't have it.

"Sweetie," she had said, taking Brennan's hands into her own and squeezing them gently when she had told her the day before. "Please, come home with me. I don't want you staying at the hospital again. I'm your friend, that's what I'm here for."

"But, Ange, I don't want to impose."

"Don't even try that line on me. I'll take you back to Hodgins' house. He has, like, a million spare bedrooms. You can have as much privacy as you'd like, and I will be by your side the instant you need me."

Brennan had opened her mouth to protest again, but Angela quickly cut her off.

"This isn't so much a request as it is an order. These treatments? The chemo? It does terrible things to people. It will wreak havoc on your body, I don't care how strong you think you are. I've seen it. So please, let me be your best friend, Bren."

"Are you absolutely certain—"

"Yes. I am resolute."

She knew when she was defeated, so she had agreed.

At first she had thought it was silly. The drugs tingled at the site of the IV line. The treatment was administered over the course of a few hours, during which time Brennan felt quite well. She and Angela both sat, reading quietly, occasionally chatting with one another.

For the first time, nobody else from the team was there. Brennan had discouraged it; there was no point in them being there for this. She was just sitting in bed and reading.

As completely uncalled for as it was, she knew that Booth would be there if he wasn't out on assignment. He was almost as stubborn as she was. Almost. She smiled at this.

Even though she had been preparing herself mentally for this, the first wave of nausea caught her completely off-guard. She was quick, though, and was able to grab the pink plastic emesis basin from the side of her bed to avoid the potential mess that came from the contents of her stomach. She coughed and sputtered, remembering the taste of bile and hydrochloric acid in her throat.

"_I don't vomit."_

"_Everything happens eventually, Bones."_

She would have to tell Booth later that he was right. Under these circumstances, though, he wouldn't laugh about it.

The first wave of nausea passed shortly after three o'clock that afternoon.

"How are you feeling, Dr. Brennan?" Dr. Bailey was kind in her words. Brennan appreciated the oncologist's respect for her title.

"Better now."

"I hate to tell you this, but statistically, it's not going to get any better. Not today. Tonight is going to be difficult. Do you have someone to care for you?" Angela smiled.

"I've got her all taken care of, Doctor, thank you," Angela told her. Dr. Bailey smiled.

"Excellent, I'm glad to hear that. Now, Dr. Brennan, here," she said, handing her a small business card, "is my emergency pager. If anything life-threatening happens, please give me a buzz. Only call, though, if the symptoms interfere with your breathing or heart rate, if you have a seizure or start to bleed out."

"Of course. Thank you," Brennan said, feeling the relief of the nausea subsiding.

"Well then," Dr. Bailey said, quickly holding a cotton ball over the site of entry, applying pressure, and smoothly sliding out the plastic line. "You are free to go. Try to get some rest. I know you might not feel like it, but eat if you can. Remember that the side effects vary among individuals. Do you have any last-minute questions for me?"

"No."

"Alright, then, Dr. Brennan," she said, taping the cotton ball to the crick in her arm where the IV had just been with medical tape in order to prevent bleeding. "Feel free to leave whenever you're ready."

No sooner had the oncologist left the room and Brennan slid her novel back into her bag did the second wave of nausea hit, accompanied by severe stomach cramping. Brennan tried not to cry out in pain as her stomach so relentlessly tried to rid itself of its contents that soon it was nothing but painful dry heaves.

Though she was in pain, Brennan was lucid. She was painfully aware of every turn that Angela's car took as they drove to Hodgins' house. The nurse had given her two disposable plastic containers just in case she felt sick in the car. Thankfully, she hadn't had to use them.

Zack had been right; Hodgins' house was enormous. The smooth driveway snaked through a length of green yard heavily covered in tall trees. It was beautiful. Angela had pointed out what looked like a small, two-story house near the beginning of the property as the garage above which Zack resided.

Finally arriving at the end of the driveway, Brennan looked up to see a beautiful, large, stone house with lots of windows neatly surrounded by carefully trimmed bushes and bright, carefully arranged begonias. Angela parked the car and rushed around to the other side in case her friend needed help.

"Angela, I'm not an invalid," she said. "I can walk and carry my own bag." Angela gave her a skeptical look.

"Bren…"

"I'll ask for help if I need it."

"Promise?"

"Yes."

Angela led her to the front door and unlocked it with a key she'd dug out of her purse. The large door swung open, revealing a beautiful atrium with polished wood floors and an intricate crystal chandelier hanging from a vaulted ceiling. A wide, sweeping staircase led to the upper floors.

"While you're still feeling up to it, I'm going to give you a quick tour of all of the important places," Angela said, leading her friend down the hall and to the left. They went through a set of wooden doors and were in the dining room. A large, sleek table large enough for at least two dozen dinner guests was surrounded by intricately carved, matching chairs. Half a dozen tall windows allowed sunlight to stream in, casting a golden glow around them.

Through a set of doors at the opposite end was the kitchen, furnished with another, smaller dining table and six chairs. It was, as everything else in the house, large, clean and ornate. Angela pointed out the stainless steel refrigerator, as well as the pantry. A door off to the right opened quite unexpectedly and Hodgins appeared, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. He grinned upon seeing them.

"Hey, ladies," he said, coming over and kissing Angela hello. "How are you feeling, Dr. Brennan?"

"Fine at the moment, though I'm told that it will only get worse. Thank you so much again, Dr. Hodgins, for allowing me to intrude."

"Oh, please," he chuckled. "It's a huge house, just me and Angela. You are definitely not intruding at all."

"Definitely not. And I wouldn't have it any other way," Angela added. "Jack, I was just showing her the kitchen and her room."

"Sounds good to me. Well, as promised, I will allow you as much privacy as you need, Dr. B."

"Thanks again, Hodgins. I really appreciate it," Brennan told him, and she truly meant it. Hodgins could see that.

"Anything I can do to help a friend," he smiled. "Let me know if you need anything." Angela and Brennan nodded to him before he disappeared through yet another door.

"Okay, so as I was saying," Angela said, "help yourself to anything in the kitchen if you get hugry."

"I doubt I will."

"Well, just in case. Let me show you where you'll be sleeping." Angela led Brennan through the door that they had just seen Hodgins emerge from to find a smaller staircase. Following it up, they came out in a long hallway, carpeted in rich blue carpet and the cream walls adorned with small, elegant light fixtures.

"This," Angela said, arriving at a door in the middle of the hall, "is the room that I made up for you."

She opened the door with a flourish, to reveal a room as large as the one she had been in at the hospital. Two large windows faced the direction of the setting sun. The dark wooden headboard of a full-size double bed with a number of plush pillows beautifully matched to the ivy-and-cream colored bedspread sat against a wall. The room contained a dresser and mirror, as well as a wooden wardrobe that matched the bed. The floor, bare wood, was decorated with a cream-colored, woven rug that spread over much of the floor.

Brennan stepped inside cautiously, as if not to disturb anything. She saw another, smaller door off next to the dresser. She moved toward it curiously.

"That's the bathroom. It adjoins to the guest room next to yours, but nobody is staying there so you'll have it to yourself." Brennan nodded.

She looked around the beautiful guest room and noticed Angela's touches. A box of tissues, a pitcher of water and a glass were set out on the bedside table. There was a photograph of the team in a frame on the bedside table as well. A vase of bright flowers sat atop a lace doily on the dresser. A heavy shade was installed at the top of each window in case she wanted to block out light. Two plush chairs sat at the bedside.

"Angela," she said, looking around at the beautiful room that her best friend had carefully prepared for her. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

"Oh, sweetie," Angela said, pulling her in for a hug. "You are so welcome. And you heard what Jack said. You can stay as long as you want, and I promise that, unless you ask, he and Zack will steer clear of here for privacy."

"I thought Zack lived on the other side of the property." Angels chuckled.

"He does. But chances are that he might want to visit, even though Hodgins made it quite clear that he was to explicitly ask for your permission first." Brennan nodded, suddenly feeling tired. Angela noticed something in her eyes change. "Why don't you change into the pajamas that you brought and you can lie down."

Brennan nodded, digging the simple powder-blue cotton pajama set that she had packed out of her bag and went into the restroom to change. She felt tired, inexplicably so. Just as she folded the clothes she had been wearing and removed her necklace and earrings, dizziness set in. She composed herself, fighting it, and when she reemerged she saw that Angela was hanging up her jacket and had halfway unpacked her things.

"Really, you don't have to do that," Brennan said. She set her clothing down haphazardly in one of the dresser drawers and made her way to the edge of the bed. She pulled back the bedcovers enough to be able to slide between the sheets. Angela looked up from what she was doing.

"Tired?"

"Yeah, sudden onset of dizziness and fatigue. I'm just going to lie down," she said almost apologetically. "Thanks again for doing all of this, Ange."

"Hey, don't worry about it. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else." The two women shared a smile, and Brennan's eyes flickered with fatigue. "Oh, hey, I almost forgot, if you feel the nausea coming on again, you can use this," she said, placing a plastic bowl on the crowded bedside table.

Brennan nodded. Angela closed the door to the room and settled back into one of the plush chairs with the book that she'd been reading earlier. Brennan, her head still spinning, adjusted the pillow and lay her head down, falling into a fitful sleep almost immediately.

* * *

It didn't last long.

Brennan should have known. She had defaulted to the oncologist's expertise when it came to the side effects of her chemotherapy, but had not wanted to believe that it would affect her so much.

It did.

For the first time, she was hazy on the time of day. Wave after wave of nausea and stomach cramps tore at her insides, so impossibly painful that she was sure her muscles would be damaged. The dizziness that made her head spin, even she was lying down and her eyes were closed.

She slept, but she wasn't sure for how long in between the bouts of cramping and nausea. And each time, it was more and more fitful.

She never vomited, ever. Not since she had been a very small child, at least.

But she could do nothing to stop the heaves that wracked her to the core, that, to her dismay, sent Angela on several trips to empty and rinse the plastic bowl simply so that Brennan could expel more bile and empty, clear gastric acid into it.

Her intestines grumbled and squelched, writhing and screaming in protest to the treatment.

Yet she stayed as quiet as she could through it all. A few times she heard herself moan or let out a dry sob.

And it was at those times when she felt Angela climb onto the bed, sitting next to her and rubbing her back gently, in small circles, just to let her know that she was there.

Angela had been right. Sometimes, a simple touch is enough. Those times, it was usually enough to allow her to sleep.

She didn't know what time it was when she woke next. A glance out the window told her that the sun had set hours ago. It was quiet, and a small lamp in the corner of the room gave off the only light. From it, she could see Angela curled up in one of the chairs, asleep, with a blanket draped over her. The cramping was gone, at least for now. Brennan took a moment to simply lie there.

She noticed that Angela had placed her cell phone on the nighttable. It was flashing quietly; she had several missed messages. She picked it up with the intention of checking them.

Her throat was screaming for water, so she poured a small glass from the pitcher on the table and put it to her lips. Slowly, that was the trick, she thought as she barely sipped enough water to moisten her mouth and throat. She set the glass back down.

Careful not to disturb Angela, she dialed in the code for voicemail. There was a message from Cam, asking if she needed anything. One from Russ to check in with her. Another from Booth, letting her know that the operation he'd been on was successful and to call if and when she felt up to it.

She smiled at the sound of his voice. Irritating and overbearing or nor, it was reassuring to know that so many people cared for her. That had been evident through Angela's care.

Angela stirred, her eyes flickered open, and she saw that Brennan was awake. She breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh, sweetie, thank goodness," she said, rising quickly. The blanket fell off and cascaded to the floor as Angela wrapped Brennan in a hug. "Feeling better?"

"Yes," she said. "What time is it?"

"It's just after 11. Are you hungry? You should really try to eat something mild. You need to keep your strength up." Brennan opened her mouth to protest, then shut it again. Angela wanted to do this for her, and she knew that, logically, she needed to try to eat something.

"Thank you, Angela," she said, giving her friend a smile. Grinning, Angela rose to leave the room.

"If you need anything else, just call my cell phone. I'll have it with me, okay?" Brennan nodded.

"Okay," she said. And Angela disappeared from the room, closing the door behind her.

She wanted to stretch her legs and make the necessary trip to the restroom, so she cautiously swung her legs over the side of the bed and held on to it for support. She quickly found that she was too dizzy for this to be an easy task. After a struggle with herself that lasted for several minutes, she made it to the toilet, the sink, and back to the bed, where she settled at last, surprised to find that the necessary bathroom trip had left her exhausted. It looked like she had anemia as well as the other more obvious side effects of the treatment.

She hadn't felt this sick in a long time.

That thought was pushed to the back of her head, though, when she chose to return Booth's phone call.

"Hey, Bones!" he greeted her happily. She didn't know where exactly he was, but there was loud rock music playing in the background. "Hold on a second," she heard him say. A moment later, the music quieted. "Sorry about that."

"You wanted to check in?" she said, getting straight to the point.

"Absolutely. How did the chemo go earlier?" his tone softened audibly.

"It went well. Administered with no trouble, and I was out of the hospital quickly."

"That's usually how it is," he said. "How have the side effects been treating you?"

"They aren't too bad," she lied. It was easier to lie over the phone, when he wasn't able to directly pick up on the subtle neurological cues in her face that would give her away.

"Yes, they are," he said, sure of himself. Brennan was silent. "Come on, Bones, I can tell when you are lying, and you are lying to me. I'm coming over there."

"No, no, that is entirely needless. I am fine." There was a long pause at the other end.

"Okay, Bones, what I'm hearing from you is that you're fine," he told her. "But what I'm getting from this conversation is that you aren't. How bad is it really?" She opened her mouth to say something but was cut off by Booth's voice again. "And before you try to say that you're fine again, I promise that I'm not above calling Angela for information. And you know she's not above giving me the details."

"I'm okay. I wouldn't be telling you anything otherwise," she said. Angela chose just that moment to reenter the room with a glass of something and a plate of dry toast, flicking the light on as she walked through the doorway. "I have been only experiencing the usual side effects that go along with the chemotherapeutics. Nothing more, nothing less." Another pause on the other line as Angela set the plate and the glass on the table beside Brennan.

"Okay, Bones," he said, accepting her answer. "Please, though, let me know if anything changes. Just give me a call and I'll be there, okay?" She nodded, not liking the note of pleading in his voice, even though it was ridiculous to think that he could hear her head movements through the receiver.

"I will call you only if there is an emergency that Angela can't handle."

"That's fine with me," he said. His voice grew quieter, softer. "I know it's gonna get tough, but you are one of the strongest people I know," he said. "You'll get through this, but you don't have to do it alone." She smiled.

"I know," she said, glancing over at Angela. "Thanks, Booth."

"Sure thing, Bones." There was a click on the other line as he hung up, and she ended the call from her end as well. Angela held out the plate to her friend and she accepted the food.

"Booth call?" Brennan cautiously nibbled a corner of the unbuttered toast, unsure of how her stomach would tolerate. She wasn't hungry at all, but knew that she had to at least try to eat.

"Yeah, he left a voicemail to see how I was, and I thought I'd call him back." Angela nodded.

"That's a banana smoothie," she said, indicating the glass. "It's just banana and ice, a little extra sugar. Gentle, bland foods will be best for now."

"Thanks, Ange," Brennan said. She took a sip of the smoothie, finding it to be quite delicious. "Have you gotten the chance to eat?" Her friend nodded.

"Yeah, Jack saved me a plate from dinner. You aren't supposed to be worrying about me." Brennan bit off another small corner of toast and chewed uneasily.

"I don't remember very much of the last few hours," she said, looking up at her friend. Angela's eyes were full of empathy and compassion.

"It's probably better that way," she said quietly, resting her hand on Brennan's arm for a moment. Brennan simply returned her gaze, unsure of what to say.

She knew she shouldn't be, but she was ashamed of herself. Namely, she hated that she wasn't completely in control of her actions around her best friend. Logically, she knew that these were physiological consequences beyond her control.

She closed her eyes again in thought.

She hated this. Absolutely hated it.

Opening her eyes again, she saw Angela smiling at her.

"It's okay, Bren," she said comfortingly, encouraging Brennan to take another sip of the smoothie. "I know that you hate this, but it's okay if you can't control everything. Just let your friends take care of you, okay?" Brennan swallowed a bit of smoothie. She looked at Angela thoughtfully.

"Just on the weekends," she said, "for the treatment."

"If you still want to play CSI Washington during the week, there's nothing I can do to stop you," Angela said, laughing. "Just know that all you have to do is ask. And I'm not just talking about me. Hodgins, Booth, Cam…probably not Zack, though…we're going to help you get through this."

"You all have been," Brennan sighed, holding Angela's gaze. "You have been wonderful. There are times I think I don't deserve to have friends like you." Angela smiled warmly, again resting her hand on her best friend's forearm.

"Sweetie, we're family," she said. "We love you."

* * *

That's all she wrote, for now.

You all have been wonderful, thank you so much for taking the time to read this! I love writing it, so I'm thrilled that you appreciate it enough to read this far.

Keep up the reviews!

And thanks again.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone that you recognize from anywhere other than this story.

* * *

If I Should Fall—Chapter 12

* * *

"Hey," Cam's voice echoed from Brennan's cell phone. Brennan switched to the speaker function so that Booth, who was driving, could hear what she was saying.

"Hey Cam," Brennan said, holding the phone between her and Booth. "What did you find?"

"I ran a tox screen on what was left of our victim. Completely clean, the girl was golden."

"Well, something had to kill her," Booth interjected from the driver's seat. "A young, intelligent college student doesn't drop dead of her own accord."

"That's just it. I gave a sample of the cardiac muscle tissue to Hodgins for analysis, and get this," she said, pausing. "He found evidence of a potent neurotoxin, fasciculin I."

"How did a neurotoxin get from her brain to her heart?" Booth asked, not taking his eyes off of the road.

"The brain is only a part of the nervous system," Brennan explained, "Neurotoxins specifically affect some aspect of neuronal communication, both in the peripheral and central nervous systems."

"Anywhere that you have a nerve in your body is fair game for a neurotoxin, Cam clarified. "This particular toxin is a powerful acetylcholinestease inhibitor, produced only by a snake called the African Green Mamba."

"Great," Booth said. "So let's track down all of the places that could be infested with that snake."

"That's gonna be a problem, they're only found in Africa. They are extremely poisonous due to the venom, so special licensing is required to keep this kind of snake. You can't find these guys in your run-of-the-mill zoo or pet store. Hodgins is going to keep looking for sources."

"Thanks for the update, Cam," Brennan said, "We're at the FBI now to interrogate a couple of suspects. Call if you find out anything else." With an affirmation from Cam, Brennan hung up as Booth parked the SUV outside of the building.

It was as gruesome as any other case. The body of a young woman had been found in the rooftop research greenhouse in the biology building at Georgetown, partially emulsified by a powerful organic chemical agent. She had been identified as Nicoletta Campbell, a 20-year-old undergraduate from upstate Maine who had disappeared during the final exam period.

The case had been brought to their attention just three days ago, and Brennan insisted on being involved in the case. She had been feeling much better, despite the occasional infrequent bouts of nausea or anemia, and she had been very insistent on going into the field with Booth. She had gotten Cam to give the okay under the condition that, if she felt ill, she was to alert Booth and leave the field immediately.

So, now, as the two of them pulled open the doors to the building, Brennan felt her hair blow back in the sudden rush of cooled air that hit them. They made their way, almost wordlessly, through the elevator ride and to one of the interrogation rooms.

"How're you feeling there, Bones? Up for an interrogation?"

"If I hadn't been up for an interrogation, why would I have come with you?"

"I don't know, because it's good company," he chuckled, smoothing his tie.

"So who's first?"

"Uh, let's see," Booth said, flipping open a manila folder. "This is Dr. Leah Germaine. She was our victim's advisor, and her research supervisor." Brennan nodded and before she could say much else, Booth opened the door and ushered her into the familiar interrogation room. They took their seats at one end of the highly polished black table across from a woman who appeared to be in her early-to-mid-30s. She was Caucasian, with intelligent hazel eyes behind a pair of smart glasses and strawberry-blond hair that fell to her shoulders. Her features were sharp and her jaw square, but she was an attractive woman.

"Good afternoon," she greeted the two of them as they sat, Booth pushing her file between himself and Brennan.

"Dr. Germaine, I am Special Agent Seeley Booth, and this is—"

"Dr. Temperance Brennan," Brennan cut in, giving Booth a look that clearly stated that she was perfectly capable of introducing herself.

"Oh, Dr. Brennan, I've read your books," Dr. Germaine said with a small smile. Brennan opened her mouth to say something, but Booth cut her off.

"I'm gonna get straight to the point, Dr. Germaine," he said, searching her face. "Could you identify this girl for me, please?"

He slid a photograph across the table depicting a young woman. The girl in the photograph had long, dark, glossy curls, olive skin, dark eyes and delicate features. The necklace that she wore in the photo reminded Booth very much of something that Brennan would like. Dr. Germaine took a quick look at the photo.

"Of course, that's Nicoletta Campbell. She's an advisee of mine, wonderful student, extremely bright. I supervise her independent research in my lab." She slid the photo across the table to Booth. "Can I ask why?"

"I think it's best if you let us ask the questions, Dr. Germaine," Booth said.

"Leah, please." Brennan nodded.

"How long have you been a professor at Georgetown?"

"I've just finished my sixth year there."

"And how long have you known Ms. Campbell?" Leah Germaine exhaled a breath through her teeth, her eyes flicking upward as if trying to remember.

"Since the first day that she arrived on campus. Nikki was assigned to my introductory seminar course for first-year students and became my advisee. Because she chose to major in my area of study, she requested to stay on as my advisee after her first year."

"And you allowed her to do so?"

"Of course. Nikki and I really clicked."

"Define 'clicked,'" Booth requested.

"Well, she is very intelligent, extremely competent in the lab, and genuinely passionate about what she studies. She has respect for what I have to teach, and I respect her as a learner."

"Is that all?" Booth asked. Brennan gave him a look.

"Well, Nikki is quite shy, and so I took her under my wing when she got to Georgetown. I have conversations with all of my first-year students to whom I am assigned, and I helped her to involve herself with extracurricular activities on campus. Does this have anything to do with her disappearance?"

"What do you know about Nikki's disappearance?" Brennan asked, curious.

"We were all puzzled by it. Nikki would never miss a class, let alone her final exams. One of her other professors mentioned it to me. I tried to contact her to see what was going on, but she never responded to my e-mail. I figured that she had simply taken a leave."

"In the last week of classes?"

"It happens, for family emergencies and sudden illnesses."

"They wouldn't notify you of that?" Leah pursed her lips in thought.

"Generally, the academic advisor is notified, but it's a case of discretion with the Dean of Students. Again, can I ask why?" Brennan and Booth exchanged a glance and turned back to Dr. Germaine.

"Leah," Brennan began gently, "Nicoletta Campbell was found dead earlier this week." The doctor visibly paled, her eyes darting around the room in disbelief. She gave a sudden sniffle and Brennan handed a tissue to her.

"Oh, my God," she said in disbelief, a tear spilling over and running down her cheek. "How?"

"We are still trying to determine that for certain," Booth said. "Did she have any enemies that you knew of?"

"Certainly, she didn't intentionally," Leah said, visibly taking deeper, slower breaths to calm herself. "She was always considerate of others, kind, she was such a bright girl but she never flaunted her intellect. Of course, as I am still a member of the faculty, I'm sure there were elements of her personal life she didn't share with me. After all, it would be inappropriate to discuss certain facets of one's life with an advisee."

"I agree," Brennan put in. "What exactly do you teach at the University?"

"My Ph.D. is in Cellular Neurobiology. My research deals with electrophysiology. My specialty course is neurobiology, but I also teach systems neuroscience course and, every once in a while, introductory biology courses in addition to the first-year introductory seminar."

"So what sort of research was Ms. Campbell doing under you?" she asked, ignoring the look that Booth was shooting her, no doubt questioning the relevancy.

"Nikki was using certain electrophysiological techniques to assess the effects of certain peptide toxins on a line of human embryonic kidney cells that we were able to clone out."

"Sounds pretty sophisticated," Booth said.

"She was extremely adept with the techniques. She would never approach this kind of thing without taking every precaution."

"What sorts of precautions?"

"Well, the toxins that we use in my lab are extremely noxious. I have to receive special clearance from the Department of Homeland Security each time I need to import a tiny vial of the chemicals."

"Why?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Why is it necessary to import the peptides?" Brennan clarified. The conversation was quickly becoming one scientist to another.

"None of the organisms that produce them are nascent to the United States. We use five toxins primarily, they come from Australia and the Pacific Islands, a variety of organisms."

"Was one of the peptides derived from the Eastern Green Mamba?" Brennan asked. Leah's jaw parted slightly, in surprise.

"Y-yes," she stammered. "That's what Nikki was working with. Fasciculin I, it is a nerve agent, potentiates a lot of current."

"Spastic paralysis," Brennan nodded. She looked with satisfaction at Booth. She was confused to see that his expression was one of worry. She brushed it off until she noticed that Dr. Germaine was looking at her strangely, too.

"Excuse us for a moment," Booth said curtly to the professor, who simply nodded. Before she quite registered what was happening, Booth had pulled her up and was leading her, rather forcefully out of the room.

"What, Booth? We were just starting to make progress," she exclaimed. He was still looking at her with urgency.

"Your nose is bleeding," he said, handing her a tissue. "Please go, you can lie down in the car—" he tossed the keys to her "—or sit and wait in my office."

"But—" she dabbed the tissue stubbornly into the space between her nose and upper lip and was surprised to see a large spot of bright red staining the tissue.

"Go," he said. "You can't be bleeding all over the interrogation room! And I don't want you to get any worse."

"Fine," she said defiantly. She stared at him, willing him to go back into the room so that she could still sneak into the observation area undetected.

"Not a chance," he said, seeing her eyeing the room. "I know you too well for this, Bones. You're just going to run off the second you get the chance."

"Booth, I'm watching the rest of the interrogation. I promise that I will get some more tissues to staunch the bleeding, but I at least want to listen." Her jaw was set; she wasn't backing down. Her icy blue eyes bored into his, her voice communicating anger and pleading. "Don't shut me out of this." Booth rolled his eyes and exhaled.

"Okay, fine," he said. "Let me know if something happens."

"Nothing is going to happen," she said disappearing into the observation area and, thoroughly irritated, shut the door behind her.

* * *

Dr. Brennan was still thoroughly disgruntled when she swiped her card to get back onto the platform at back at the lab.

"How'd it go with the academic advisor?"

"Her alibi checked out," Brennan said, snapping on a pair of latex gloves. "Not that I would know, Booth kicked me out of the interrogation room."

"He kicked you out?" Angela asked, incredulously.

"Yes, in the middle of questioning."

"Bones, you are not telling her the whole story."

"Which is?" Angela raised an eyebrow.

"Her nose started bleeding in the middle of the interrogation."

"That's a good reason," Angela said, nodding in agreement.

"No, no, it's not," Brennan said. "It's not a big deal, just a side effect of the chemo. I am fine."

"Still, you don't want to scare whoever it is you are interrogating."

"She was a doctor! She could have handled it," Brennan said. She picked up the humerus of the victim and began to fervently reexamine it. "Booth, stop looking over my shoulder."

"Fine, I'll just go find Cam and see if she has anything new for us," he said, his voice raised only slightly, as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and lumbered off of the platform. Angela looked in disbelief from Brennan to Booth and back again, clutching her clipboard to her chest.

"He's just worried, sweetie," Angela said calmly. "He doesn't like that you're working so much right now. None of us do. Now, I know you're going to give me some line about not stopping your life for this, but please, take some time to rest. The quicker you can do that, the faster you will be able to get back to your full potential."

Brennan was silent, still fully concentrating on examining the long, slender bone in her hands. She had heard every word that Angela said, and she knew that she was right. But it was then that she noticed something in the bone that she hadn't seen before.

As her best friend rushed over to the large microscope at the other end of the platform, Angela knew that her words had been lost.

"There's a dimple here," Brennan explained to Angela. "I didn't see it before, but from the depth of remodeling I believe that this resulted from someone jabbing some sort of long, thing object into her arm with such force that it penetrated the periosteum."

"So if it were a needle…"

"I'm not prepared to make that leap, but if this mark was made by a needle, that could be how the toxin was introduced into her system. I'm going to go tell Cam."

And with that, she rushed off again. Hurricane Brennan. Angela smiled and shook her head, grateful that at least her best friend was able to still manage to keep up her energy during cases.

* * *

The buzzer gave a lout scream of protest as heavy doors were unlocked and allowed to be opened. Brennan hoisted her purse back over her shoulder and began the long walk through the halls of the prison, heels clicking on the concrete floor.

When the guard opened the door for her for visitation, Max Keenan stood abruptly upon seeing her arrival. His eyes, almost the same blue as her own, were widened in concern and relief as he came to meet her, sweeping her up in a father's embrace.

"Hi, Dad," she said, her voice slightly muffled by his shoulder.

"Tempe, are you alright?"

"I'm fine. You?"

"Oh, you know me, same old jumpsuit," he said, smiling at his daughter. They took seats across the table from one another. "You look good."

"Thanks," she said, smiling more for her father's peace of mind than because she felt like smiling. "I got your note from Caroline."

"I figured as much. How is the time off? Or are you working through it?" She tilted her head to the side and raised an eyebrow. "As if I'd needed to ask. Same old Tempe, throwing yourself into your work when you should take some time off for yourself."

"I cannot take time off for myself when a bright young college student is found poisoned and doused with chemicals."

"Yeah, but she's already dead," Max told her, saying this as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Brennan looked at him incredulously, sparks beginning to form in her eyes.

"That was callous and insensitive," she said. "Did you want to see me for anything in particular?"

"Yeah, I wanted to give you a hug and tell you that I love you and that I'm sorry that you have to suffer through this and there's nothing I can do to help," he said, reaching his hand across the table to grasp hers. To his surprise, she let him. "You might think me a cold-blooded killer, but the last thing in the world that I want is to see my daughter suffer. That's why I did many of the things that made me an outlaw. For you and Russ."

Brennan wasn't sure what to say to this. Yes, he may have had the right intentions, but to her that still didn't justify the brutal beatings and killings that he had been capable of. And knowing that many of those things had been because of her was a fact that definitely did not ameliorate her spirits.

"You've told me this before," she said, holding his gaze.

"And you still don't believe me."

"No, I believe you," she said calmly. "But I still will not condone or support the actions that you took."

"I'm not asking you to," Max said. Both were quiet for a moment before Brennan dropped her gaze.

In familiar fashion, her cell phone began to ring. He moved his hand from hers so that she could have access to her phone, which she promptly flipped open.

"Brennan," she said, looking away from her father.

"Hey, Bones, I need you back here. We've got a lead on another suspect, a guy named Nicholas Leevy, worked with our victim in her lab."

"Okay, I'll be there in half an hour," she said quickly, hanging up the phone. "I have to go," she said, standing abruptly.

"The case?"

"Yeah, we have a lead on a suspect." She turned to walk to the door, but Max hurried over before she could leave.

"Hey," he said, catching her attention. She turned back and looked into her father's face. He held her gaze and raised his hand so that his open palm rested on her cheek. "I love you."

She swallowed, uneasy with herself because of the ounce of discomfort that she still felt at his touch. She brought her hand up to her face, resting it over his on her cheek. They stood like that for just an instant.

"I love you, too, Dad."

"I know."

* * *

Zack and Hodgins had identified the type of bore needle used in the killing. Angela's 3-D renderings posited the most probable scenarios. Booth had, with a lot of persuasion, been able to track down the biohazardous waste that left the Reiss science building ten and twelve days prior, the time of death established by Hodgins.

Now all they had to do was wait for it to arrive. Hodgins was optimistic that he would be able to sort through the trash and find the needle used, and with it the syringe, from which they could hopefully pull prints or other particulates to help identify the killer.

What didn't help was that, with the exception of Dr. Leah Germaine, they could not confirm alibis for any of the prime suspects.

"All of the students claim that they were in their rooms, studying for finals, during the time that Nicoletta was killed," Booth said in frustration.

"Well, at least these students recognize how important their schoolwork is, not like some of the other universities that I've visited. It is so easy for athletic pressures to muddle the academic atmosphere of higher education and confuse the high value that our society should place on scholastic excellence with alternate mores."

"Oh, come on, don't start with the athletes again."

"I don't know what that means, I'm just saying that it's a welcome relief to realize that there are still some people in this society that put a premium on intellect and higher education," Brennan said.

They were in Brennan's office, Brennan packing her things up to leave for the evening. The evening was growing later, and there was nothing that she could do until after Hodgins had the opportunity to sift through the waste once the FBI technicians brought it in.

"So, how was the visit with your father?" Booth asked, sitting sideways to face her, his arm draped casually over the back of the sofa. Brennan shrugged.

"It was fine," she said. "He told me that he loved me." Booth nodded in understanding, a smile crossing his lips.

"You already knew that." There was a momentary pause.

"I told him that I loved him back," she said, putting her arms through her coat and shutting off her desk lamp and computer. Her voice was meant to be nonchalant, but Booth recognized the significance of the gesture.

"Good for you," he said. They shared a smile when she met his eyes with hers, and he had a look of approval on his face. He stood to leave when she grabbed her purse and made her way to the door. "Hey, what are you doing for dinner?" Brennan checked her watch. Was it really 7:30 already?

"I'm not hungry, actually," she said. "I was just going to go back home and rest."

"You need to eat," he said pointedly.

"You've been saying that I need to rest, too," she said. "If I get hungry, I have food at my apartment.

"You haven't been eating." It was a pointedly stated verity, not a question.

"I have, too," she argued. It was true. She hadn't been eating well, as her appetite had been gone for a while. But when she thought about it, she made a conscious effort to try to eat something, even if it was only a few bites of a sandwich or a handful of carrot sticks.

"Tell you what, we'll go to Wong Foo's," he said, walking out of the lab with her. "Sid will find something for you to eat."

"He always does," she smiled. "Okay, I'll go. But I'm driving."

"And there, you are incorrect. I will be driving," he said with an air of assurance. "I _always _drive."

As if to make a point, he twirled the key ring around his finger. He let the keys fly into the air, watching them to catch them smoothly when gravity returned them to earth.

His eyes rolled briefly upward in annoyance when Brennan snatched the car keys out of the air in front of him.

"So much for those Ranger reflexes," she laughed, jovially poking at his bicep.

Booth refused to comment.

And Brennan ended up driving.

* * *

That's all she wrote for now.

Sorry if you weren't expecting a case to pop up, but I like to throw in some different elements. It can't all be Brennan in the hospital, after all… lol.

Please review! Even if you've reviewed before, I really, really like the feedback.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone that you recognize from anywhere other than this story.

* * *

If I Should Fall—Chapter 13

* * *

The second round of chemotherapy was worse than the first.

It was as if Brennan's body's defenses had been knocked out by the first treatment, not even caring to put up a fight. Which, she realized, was entirely possible.

She had vomited twice into baggies from the hospital on the way back to Hodgins' house, her stomach wrought in turmoil. Angela carried her bag, leading her through the familiar corridors of the house to the same room as the previous weekend.

This week, though, the cramping was so painful that she took longer than usual to don the blue cotton pajama set, and she hardly spoke to Angela as she pulled the blankets on the bed around her, curling up and trying to sleep to stop the pain.

The cramping, nausea, and dizziness were augmented, as if her body had given up trying to withstand the symptoms. Her head pounded so hard that Brennan was sure it would burst from intracranial pressure.

Last week, she had kept her jaw set, fighting the tears. Now, she didn't have the strength to keep them from falling. It was all she could do to keep her head buried deep into the pillows, hiding her distress from Angela.

This time, Angela hardly left her perch on the bed beside Brennan. During the worst of the pain, the times when she wanted nothing more than to run and deal with it herself, the soft, gentle touch of her best friend on her back or arm let Brennan know that Angela was there for her.

It was as it had been before, though she slept for more abbreviated periods of time before a fresh wave of cramping or nausea hit wracked her body, accompanied by cries that she could do nothing to silence. It was a natural reaction to the pain, she knew, and there was nothing unusual about it.

It didn't matter. She still hated it.

Between the bouts of fitful sleep and searing pain, the afternoon and early evening were a blur.

* * *

It tore Angela's heart out.

She wanted to be by Brennan's side through everything, thick or thin. She was her best friend, and she loved her to bits and pieces. More than she could say. And she knew how much Brennan needed a friend, a touchstone, in her life. Her friend had had her heart broken too many times, and Angela hoped that she could help her friend heal.

But this had been so difficult. It was clawing at her insides, sitting at Brennan's side as she twisted into her blankets in pain so terrible that Angela didn't even know whether she knew that she was there.

It was all that she could do, as each strangled sob escaped her best friend's throat, to keep the physical contact, hoping with every fiber of her being that it would count for something, that, somehow, she was doing something to help.

On matters of the heart, Angela was an expert. But here, even taking her own advice was not giving her a sense of reassurance. On one plane, she knew that Brennan drew comfort from her presence.

But she also had Brennan in her head telling her not to make assumptions, to jump to conclusions without first examining the evidence.

A very difficult best friend to have indeed.

Relief always came, though. No matter how long the lowest moments of the chemo side effects stretched, somehow Temperance's body allowed her to settle into sleep, a fleeting reprieve from agony.

And it was then that Angela breathed again.

It was during one of these times that she allowed herself to slide off quietly off of Brennan's bed, moving silently across the floor and slipping out of the door. She closed the door quietly behind her, careful not to wake her friend from the shield of slumber that allowed her to forget the pain.

The moment the door slipped shut, though, Angela felt all of the unshed tears that had been dammed up inside of her throughout the afternoon rise up into her throat. Her hand lingered on the cool metal of the doorknob for a fleeting moment before the welled-up emotion inside of her began to spill over.

She slid gently against the wall to the floor, burying her head in her hands. Drawing her knees to her chest, she felt her hands become slick with the flood of tears that she hadn't paid notice to before. The harder she tried to swallow the uncomfortable lump of sorrow and empathy in her throat, the closer it rose to the surface.

The tears continued to flow for her friend. Drawing her knees closer to her chest began to impede her breathing, but she didn't care. She only buried her head in her arms as her body shook with contained emotion that struggled to set itself free.

She wasn't sure how long she had stayed like that.

Until two soft hands rested on Angela's arms, gently pushing them away from her face. Sniffling and hurriedly wiping away lingering teardrops with the back of her wrist, she looked up into the bright blue eyes of her fiancé, who was crouched in front of her.

"Hey, hey," he said softly, as if to console a child who'd had a nightmarish dream. "Come here." Hodgins took her into his arms and held her as she cried, planting a kiss on her forehead.

"Jack, you shouldn't—" she began, quickly drying her eyes and making to pull out of the embrace. "I should really—"

"Angie, it's okay," he said comfortingly.

"How can you say that? Of course it's not okay. Jack, she's—"

"She's your best friend, I know," he said, wiping a stray tear away from her cheek with his thumb. "And it's hard as hell to watch her suffer through this."

"I'm trying so hard," Angela tried to swallow the lump that kept reforming in her throat. "And I just…I don't know if it's even doing any good."

"Hey, baby, you are a wonderful friend, a wonderful person. Dr. Brennan knows that you are there for her, and that's what's important." He gave her a small smile, gently tipping her chin up and meeting her eyes with his.

"I know, it's just—" she began. "It's violently, terribly painful to see her in so much pain and not be able to do a single thing to bring her out of this agonizing mishegos." Angela took a breath and wiped a lock of hair off of her forehead. "It's not fair," she said quietly.

"Life's not fair, and it sucks, but that's just the way it is," Hodgins said. "I hate that Dr. Brennan wanted to do this on her own, but Angie, she is blessed to have you there by her side. She is so lucky to have a friend like you to be there for her, and she knows that. Regardless of whether you can or cannot alleviate the pain that she is feeling right now, I'm sure that she is comforted by your presence." There was a lull for a moment, and the two of them sat there in the hallway just reading each other.

"I don't know if I can do this alone, either," Angela said quietly, so quietly that Hodgins almost didn't catch it.

"I'm always here if you need anything," he said consolingly. "And I know you're gonna hate this, but right now you need to rest."

"I can't leave her, Jack," Angela said quickly, her voice raised a quarter of an octave out of anxiety. "I promised."

Hodgins sighed, nodding his head slowly. He knew how much this meant to Angela, but he also knew the toll that it was taking on her emotionally. The strain was hauntingly visible in the depths of her dark eyes. It was terribly real then, seeing the sorrow and uncertainty in Angela's eyes, and he couldn't stand it. All that he wanted to do was protect her from the grief and worry.

But he knew that when Brennan needed her, Angela would be there.

He rose to his feet and extended his arms, helping Angela to her feet. She wrapped her arms around him and they held each other in a comforting embrace.

"I'm calling Booth," he said resolutely. It wasn't a question. He could feel Angela shake her head beside him. "Angela—" he began, but she cut him off.

"Let me do it," she said, pulling back from the embrace. "This is my charge anyway. Besides, if Bren heard that you called Booth, she'd be…" her voice trailed off.

"Less than thrilled?" Hodgins filled in with a small smile.

"Yeah, let's go with that." Angela's lips met his in a quick kiss of gratitude. "Thank you, Jack."

"That's what I'm here for," he said, smiling for her sake as she pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed the familiar number.

* * *

At last, Brennan emerged from fitful sleep to feel only mild nausea. Warm, welcome relief washed over her. She allowed herself to relish the moment, wrapped snugly beneath the bedcovers, head resting softly on the pillow. Finally breathing a sigh of reprieve, she opened her eyes to the soft glow of the bedside lamp that illuminated the room.

Angela was no longer sitting on the bed with her. Fighting the fatigue that threatened to hold her immobile, she sat up slowly and her hand stretched out weakly for the glass of water on the night table.

A familiar pair of warm, brown eyes met hers, brimming with compassion.

"Hey, Bones," he said, trying hard to smile as he watched her with his face full of concern. She sat straight up quickly to face him, gripping the glass in one hand. "Glad to see you awake."

"Booth, what are you doing here?" she asked, her voice raised out of irritation. She brought the glass to her lips and took a sip. "Where's Angela?"

"She went to lie down and get a moment's rest. Are you feeling any better?"

"How did you get here?"

"It's not hard," he said, "to track down where Hodgins lives. His paranoid conspiracy theories have made his address common knowledge at the Bureau."

"You tracked me down?" she asked in disbelief and anger.

"Didn't have to," he said evenly. "Angela called me."

"What?" It was more a statement of anger than a question. She exhaled forcefully through her teeth, her jaw set. "She wasn't supposed to do that."

"Well, Bones, when you are thrashing around and having terrible fits of agony and crying out in distress…" his voice trailed off. The truth of it stuck her, and she could not bring herself to meet his eyes. "You gave us quite a scare, Temperance," he finished quietly. She bit her lip and looked up at him apologetically.

"You didn't have to come," she told him ruefully.

"I know." He paused, holding her gaze. "I wanted to."

"Why? I can't possibly make very good company right now."

"Again, I wanted to be here," he said honestly.

"What, to watch me writhe in discomfort?" She was angry now. It wasn't fair that she had been left so vulnerable, so unguarded. She felt as though she was being targeted while her defenses were down. "You shouldn't be here."

"I am concerned about you, Bones," he said, his voice wavering almost undetectably when he spoke. "You're my family, and like it or not, I'm going to be here for you. In the best of times, and in the worst of times."

"I'm sure that Charles Dickens would appreciate your reference of his work," she muttered, again dropping her gaze.

"Besides," he said, choosing to ignore the interruption, partially because he didn't quite understand it. "I thought that Angela could use a break. She was sobbing nearly as hard as you were when I got here."

"Why?"

"Because she's your best friend, and she is…much more sensitive. It takes a lot of emotional strength to care for an ill friend."

"Why? All you have to do is sit there," Brennan asked with genuine curiosity. "It's not like you're the one in physiological distress."

"No, but emotional distress can take just as much of a toll on a person as physical distress," he explained patiently. "Sometimes more." Brennan took another sip from the glass of water.

"I still don't understand."

"Look, Bones, this is one of those things that you can't process with your brain," she was a little surprised to find that Booth's voice was raised almost undetectably in frustration.

"Oh, it's a gut thing." She hadn't meant for it to come out sounding condescending, but the furrow in his brow indicated to Brennan that that was precisely how he was processing her comment.

"Remember that thing I told you the night before your operation, about life being meant to be shared?" There was fire in his eyes, a fire that she had started without even realizing.

"You sound angry," she pointed out gently, intentionally forcing calm and softer tones into her voice.

"Of course I'm upset! Bones, when you have somebody who is close to you, somebody so close that it's almost as if they _are_ a part of you, _contain_ a part of you, if you are lucky enough to have someone like that in your life, and if they are suffering…I mean, really suffering, and all you can do is watch? Just watch?" He spoke very quickly, in a still angry, passionate tone. His eyes never left hers. "It's like you'd tear out a piece of your own heart just to relieve an ounce of their pain for a second. But that's not possible. That situation leaves you with a lot of emotion to release, and nowhere to go with it. Angela? She cried."

"That is her escape route."

"Yeah," he said, voice noticeably softer now. "It is."

As with so many of their others, this conversation ended in silence. Booth's breathing rate was still elevated, as if endorphins still pumped through his system at the brief outburst. She watched as he swallowed and, finally, his jaw unclenched. But his eyes were still on hers, searching them as if to discover something buried there.

And then, with the escape of a tiny, sympathetic sigh, as the tiny wrinkle in her forehead was released, Brennan understood.

"How long have you been here, Booth?" she asked quietly, almost with a pleading note in her voice.

"Long enough," he said. Brennan nodded. He had seen the pain that she was in, seen the pain that she was putting Angela through. What she was doing, despite intention, to her best friend.

Her lips parted in sadness, and she quickly dropped her gaze and brought the water glass to her mouth again for another drink. Maybe because she was aiming to meet a physiological need, but it gave her a split second to think.

But she could think of nothing to say, except—

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "So sorry." Booth exhaled, leaving his chair and sitting instead on the edge of her bed, their faces only two feet apart.

"Don't," he told her. "You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for."

"I could have—" she began.

"Stayed in the hospital? We would have been there anyway," he said, the corner of his mouth smiling. It was there for a second, and then his expression sobered. They held each other's eyes in a gaze of understanding for several seconds.

"You know," she said quietly, raising an eyebrow ever so slightly as she spoke. "If you wanted, you could still give me one of your guy hugs. I won't break. I'm not that fragile."

And he did. It was, perhaps, more gentle than their earlier embraces, but he hugged her all the same. Booth's heart swelled with pride at her emotion. He had recognized very early on in their relationship that if she was pushed too quickly, she would retreat into the barriers of her own mind that separated her from emotion. His patience was paying off, and he knew that she saw it, too.

"Why do you put up with me, Booth?"

They pulled back slowly, and Booth looked at her. It had seemed an innocent enough question. His eyes traced the fine lines of her forehead, and noticed with a pang in his chest that her wan cheeks were a little sunken and deep purple shadows were settling under her eyes. But her eyes were the same, always the same. At that, he said a small prayer of thanks that this ordeal hadn't dulled the sparkling blue. He gave her a gentle smile.

"For the same reason that you put up with me."

Before he fully register what he was doing, he gently rested his forehead on hers.

And she didn't pull away.

The next time that an unforeseen bout of searing agony clawed at Brennan from the inside, Booth was there, at her side as he always was, his hand on her upper arm or at her own, speaking soothing words just to let her know that he was there. He talked to her, and kept her grounded, even through the worst of it. Just as Angela had.

She was tired, exhausted, but she held many of her cries and tears inside. She felt dirty, with the remnants of tears and sweat staining her face. The moment that she felt her condition was stable enough to allow her, she made her way into the bathroom. Booth had offered an arm for support, but she insisted that she could manage on her own.

Same old Brennan, he smiled.

The water was a welcome relief to her warm skin, cooling and cleansing the grime from it. It splashed onto her face and hands, and seemed to relieve her of some of the impurities she felt. Patting her skin dry, she returned to the other room, where Booth stood by the bed, hands in his pockets, a look on his face that silently questioned whether she needed anything. Her placating smile calmed him, too, as she climbed up into the bed and sat cross-legged beneath the bedcovers. Booth sensed that she wanted a little bit of space, and he obliged, returning to the plush chair at the bedside.

Always at the bedside.

Brennan watched him quietly, as if observing something worthy of study. He knew that look, thought; she was deep in thought. He smiled back nonchalantly.

"What?"

"Are you staying?"

"Tonight, yes," he said, leaning back into the chair. "I've worked it out with Angela. I'm staying here until I have to leave for Mass tomorrow morning at 6:30."

"You're going to church tomorrow?"

"Yeah, it's Sunday, and that's what I do on Sundays."

"You should go home and sleep."

"That," he said, flashing her a satisfied smile and raising his eyebrows, "is what this chair is for." As if to further prove his point, he stretched his arms out above him, lacing his fingers together behind his head. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

"I'm not trying to get rid of you, I am simply stating my scientific opinion of your sleep habits." He couldn't help but chuckle.

"You, Bones," he said, "will never change."

"On the contrary," she said, "evolution of character and adaptation to changing physical stimuli are an intrinsic part of the natural order of things. Much of the overall world experience is predicated by which organisms possess the ability to adapt to the widest range of stimuli." She smiled at him. "You're going to sleep in that chair?" He shrugged.

"I brought a book."

"Which you won't read," she said. "Go home, Booth. I'll be okay."

"I know you will," he said. "But I'm staying."

"I'm serious."

"So am I," he smirked at her. "What are you gonna do, go Jackie Chan on my ass?"

"I don't know who that is, but if I was going to kick you, the attacks wouldn't be directed at your ass. That is an impractical use of force." They shared a jovial grin. "You know, you could just take the guest room next door…"

"Absolutely not," he said. "I made a promise to Angela that I don't intend to break. She even gave me a blanket, see?" He held up a beige plush blanket that had been sitting neatly on the floor beside him. "I'm all set."

She shot him another look, half-skeptical and half-irritated, before uncrossing her legs and readjusting her pillow. She lay down and pulled the blankets up to her neck, giving booth an expectant look.

"Okay, fine," she said, knowing that she had lost, but not entirely sorry about it. A part of her was grateful that he was there. Brennan felt safe with him, and it wasn't just because he was a sniper-trained FBI agent with strong alpha-male attributes. He was Booth, her partner and friend. She trusted him with her life, but more importantly, she had trusted him enough to let him into her life, into her heart. "Hey Booth?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you mind turning out the light?"

"Yeah, sure thing." A moment later, the only light came from faint rays of white moonlight passing through the window panes. Everything was still and peaceful as Booth threw the blanket over himself, settling back into the chair. He had to give Angela props, this chair was actually very comfortable. Brennan watched him from her nest in the bed.

"Booth?" He laughed softly at the sound of his name again. "Wait, why are you laughing?"

"Nothing, Bones."

"No, really."

"The whispering across the room makes me feel like I'm at a slumber party," his whisper was loud and exaggerated.

"I never understood—"her sentence was punctuated by a yawn, "why it is that they are called that. The term slumber party is such a misnomer… no sort of slumber ever occurs at those events." Booth smiled through the darkness.

"Good night, Bones," he said, resting his head against the back of the chair. He closed his eyes.

"Good night."

* * *

That's all she wrote, for now.

Y'all rock! Keep on reviewing, it makes me happy to know what you think about the story.

Thanks for reading!


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone that you recognize from anywhere other than this story.

* * *

If I Should Fall—Chapter 14

* * *

"Zack, I'm through with the soft tissue, the remains are all yours," Cam called across the platform, snapping off the latex gloves and tossing them into the nearest waste receptacle.

"Hodgins is finished gathering particulates?" the young man asked, hair flopping into his eyes. He pushed it out of his face with the back of his hand.

"Yep, this soaker's all yours," she smiled, turning to leave, but Zack's eyes were already fixated on the remains as he began to transfer them to a cart and take them for masseration.

"Dr. Brennan doesn't like that," he said after her, his voice containing a note of apprehension and warning. Cam turned on her heel and gave Zack an inquisitive look.

"What?"

"Terms like that."

"Soaker, stiff, worm food, organic rot fest, crispy critter—"

"Okay," Cam said quickly, more to shut him up than anything else. She opened her mouth, almost correcting him to point out that Dr. Brennan wasn't there, but chose not to. "I'll remember that."

Zack nodded in satisfaction. After several minutes in the large vat of 4 peroxide solution, he was able to retrieve the bones of the victim one by one and place them in a container for transport. Once back on the platform, he carefully reassembled the skull, meticulously examining each bone as he placed them onto the stainless steel table.

He moistened his lips and leaned over the table, taking in and processing every detail, every anomaly. He exhaled sharply. It made him uncomfortable that Dr. Brennan was absent. He took his vacations when she took hers, but not this time. There was definitely pressure added now, with him being the only forensic anthropologist in the lab.

And it had only been a day.

It was only Monday afternoon, but Dr. Brennan hadn't come in that morning. Zack suspected that she was simply taking a day to rest following her exhausting chemotherapy treatment over the weekend, but it still made him uneasy. True, he had a doctorate, and was no longer Brennan's grad student. But he was still technically her assistant.

When Booth had dropped off the remains at the lab that morning, he had ignored Zack, as always. Just handed off the body bag to Cam for examination and turned to go, beginning what Dr. Brennan referred to as 'his part' of the investigation, alone. Usually, Dr. Brennan went with him.

But not today. Today, it was all on him.

So he furrowed his brow in concentration, focusing on and documenting the minute details that, he knew, could allow him to form the picture of this man's death.

"Hey, Zack-O, don't know if you got the memo," Hodgins called from his computer across the platform. "Video conference with Dr. Brennan at 1:00 this afternoon."

"Why?"

"Because she wants to be updated with the progress on this case," he said, shrugging and turning back to the tiny pebble that had been found in the victim's trachea. "Like we'd be able to keep her out of it."

"Thank you for the notification," Zack said, turning back to the remains. He wanted, as always, to make absolutely certain that he didn't miss anything.

* * *

Brennan sat on her couch in her apartment, where she'd spent much of her day. An intricately woven blanket was draped over her lap, on top of which sat her laptop computer. She had thrown an oversized Northwestern sweatshirt over her pajama top, her hair brushed carefully so that it hung over her shoulders. She had never been one for vanity, but the unevenness of her hair now irked her, and she found that the only way to hide that was to keep it brushed out.

That way, nobody could see the scar that ran over the back of her head and neck. Three inches long, the fresh, pink scar tissue raised as if in protest. Now that her stitches were removed, at least the awkward black threads no longer ran like train tracks over the site where the incision had been made just over two weeks prior.

She wasn't troubled by the scar at all. She even took some strange comfort each morning and each evening when she brought her compact mirror around to the back of her head, examining through double-mirror reflection.

Brennan checked her cell phone. Only five minutes now, and she would be receiving a phone call from the lab. She had more or less coerced Cam into keeping her filled in on the details of the case, sure that she could somehow contribute. Her team was more than capable of solving this case, she was sure. But Brennan also knew that, with her insight, the case would be closed faster than it would be without her.

She sat sideways on the couch, her lower back leaning against the armrest and her chin resting in her open palm, her elbow supported by the back of the couch. Waiting. Her laptop was on, idle, resting in her lap from when she had been writing the latest chapter of her newest book. With several clicks of the keyboard, she pulled up the telecommunication software and allowed it to boot up.

Finally, her cell phone rang.

"Brennan," she said. Perhaps she'd picked up the phone a little too quickly.

"Whoa, Dr, Brennan, a little eager there," came Cam's voice from the other end. "Do you have your satellite hookup ready?"

"Yes, I'll switch to the video feed now," she said, turning on the internet camera and opening the program. Instantly, the lab team appeared on her computer screen. She smiled with relief, clicking her cell phone off.

"Can you hear us, Dr. Brennan?" Cam asked.

"Yes, the connection is great," she said, and she couldn't help giving them a quick smile, glad to take her mind off of the dullness of her time at home. "So what's going on over there?"

"Booth brought us a new case this morning," Cam said. "Mostly decomposed, but I still had some soft tissue to work with. He was found buried in a shallow grave at the edge of an airfield."

"Anthropophagi?"

"Male, racial markers indicate African-American," Zack started, stretching his head more centrally toward the camera. "6'2'' tall, age between 32-38 years. History of greenstick fractures to the left tibia, as well as a gunshot wound to the left scapula, but recalcification indicates that these were both old injuries—"

"Concise, please," Cam said, snapping her fingers in the air for effect.

"Cam found indications of asphyxiation, but there was postmortem trauma to the sternum and ribs that occurred postmortem."

"Did you find any signs of trauma to the cervical vertebrae that support asphyxiation?"

"None at all," Zack said.

"Which is why we think he drowned," Cam put in. Brennan nodded.

"So he was drowned and something crushed his chest afterward?"

"Yes," Hodgins said. "But get this, I found traces of the amino acid DL-Methionine, increased concentrations of sodium chloride crystals, and spirulina, a blue-green plant plankton rich in raw protein, vitamins A1, B1, B2, B6—"

"As we cut to the chase…" Brennan said in a straightforward manner.

"Spirulina is a common ingredient in tropical fish foods."

"He was drowned in a fish tank?"

"Well, yes and no. The trace evidence I found was only present on the head, neck, and shoulders of the victim," Hodgins finished.

"We think somebody held his head underwater, then beat him to make sure that he was really dead," Cam said.

"ID?"

"Yeah, sweetie," Angela spoke up, holding up her sketch pad. "My sketch got a hit off, and Cam confirmed the dentals. It's Walter Maxwell, 34, lives in Church Falls."

"Good work, Angela."

"Booth is out there now, talking to his wife," she said. "I'm working up a digital reconstruction of the scenario, I can beam you a 2-D version as soon as I've finished."

"And I'm getting a more complete workup so that we can potentially trace aquarium types, etc. Once Booth is finished, we should have something else to go off of."

"So everybody is doing their jobs," Cam gave a small smile into the camera. "Any insight for us, Dr. Brennan?"

"Yeah, Zack, see if you can identify the weapon used to crush his chest. Give Booth and the FBI forensics team some sort of weapon to look for. Even if it isn't the actual murder weapon, we should be able to at least trace it to the individual that was doing the beating."

"I'm on it, Dr. Brennan. I'll let you know what I've found out."

"Good," Brennan smiled at her team through her computer screen. "Thanks for keeping me updated."

"You know, sweetie," Angela said, "most people who take sick days actually stay at home, sleep, watch TV—"

"I don't have a TV."

"The point is that you should be resting."

"I'm resting," Brennan retorted, her voice raised out of protest. "Zack, you have a weapon to identify," she said. "Call me if you need assistance."

"Yes, Dr. Brennan," Zack nodded, turning expediently and disappearing from the view of the camera.

"Okay, Bren, I'll beam you that reconstruction."

"Thanks, Ange," she said. "Anything else you've got, Cam? Hodgins?"

"Nothing else here, just have some particulates to sift through," Hodgins said, straightening up as he spoke.

"And I've got zilch. I'll keep you updated, Dr. Brennan. Make sure you get some rest at some point so that you can actually come in to the lab when you're ready."

"I will," she said, and she watched as Cam reached up and disconnected the camera. Brennan's screen went dark, and she exhaled as she clicked out of the program.

She leaned her head against the back of the couch and closed her eyes. She knew that she should rest more, try to get her energy back, but not being able to work was irritating. Going into the lab that day, though, was out of the question. When Brennan had returned the previous afternoon from Angela's care, she found herself so exhausted that she had crawled back into her own bed and slept.

After years of working for the Jeffersonian, she was now on her sixth sick day.

The new sense of exhaustion that had fallen over her life was very new to Brennan. She hadn't remembered a time when she'd felt like this, like she simply lacked the vigor to hop out of bed in the early morning as she usually had. It was upsetting.

But she tried, keeping her chin up and her strong will thriving. Though her body had begun to reject much of what she tried to eat, Brennan was persistent. Not being able to eat, she thought, was probably the major reason for her lack of energy. She lacked any appetite, but knew that it was important to keep trying.

Keep on trying. She smiled at the thought of the good old song. She'd sung it so many times as a little girl with her father, and again after Booth's rescue from the airfield hangar.

Brennan didn't realize that she'd fallen asleep until she woke with a start to the shrill ring of the phone in her apartment. Throwing the blanket off, she hurried over to the phone, picking it up quickly.

"Brennan."

"Hey, Tempe, it's me." She frowned, sinking into a nearby chair.

"Russ," she said, moistening her lips. "How are you?" She heard him chuckle from the other end.

"I should be the one asking you that question," he said. "I'm fine."

"Where are you?"

"How was your chemo treatment this weekend? Any word on whether it's working?"

"Russ, where are you?" Russ breathed a frustrated sigh.

"You know I can't tell you that."

"Why not, don't you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you, but it's just better if you don't know." Brennan rolled her eyes to herself.

"So what's going on?" she asked after a moment's silence.

"I wanted to call and check in to see how my little sister is doing. How was the treatment this weekend?"

"Not good. I'm okay, though, just a little tired."

"Tempe, you're more than a little tired if you're sitting at home on a Monday afternoon."

"I was advised to take a sick day and get some rest, so that's precisely what I'm doing," she assured him. "I'll be back at the lab tomorrow." Russ laughed.

"You haven't changed a bit," he said, and she was sure that he was smiling.

"So how have you been?" she asked him sincerely.

"Oh, you know, the same old thing," he told her. "I miss Amy and the girls like crazy. Amy told me that she brought Hailey and Emma to the hospital to visit you after your surgery a couple of weeks ago."

"She did."

"I'm glad that you are getting to know each other so well. I love those little girls like they were my own."

"I know, Russ. They are great kids," she said. "I think that they miss you."

"I will be back with them sooner than they think," he said, and Brennan thought that she detected a note of bitterness in his voice. He took a deep breath. "Tempe, I'm going to ask Amy to marry me."

"When?"

"As soon as I can come home to them. There's nobody that I'd rather be with, and I love them. I would do anything to protect them." She smiled into the phone.

"Starting with a clean record."

"I know," he sighed. "I know. Listen, I have a somewhat unorthodox favor to ask of you, Tempe. And you can think about it, I don't need an answer right away."

"What is it, Russ?" She heard him exhale sharply into the telephone receiver.

"I wanted to ask you to consider becoming certified as a foster parent—"

"Russ," she began, but he cut her off quickly.

"I know. I know you don't want kids, and I know that you hate the system, but I just want to make sure that Emma and Hailey are taken care of if something happens to Amy. You don't have to do it right away, when you're feeling better or when you've got some free time, please just think about it." There was a note of pleading in his voice that she didn't like.

"I'm no good with kids," she said matter-of-factly.

"That's a huge load of crap. Those girls love you, Amy vouched for it. And even by some huge mistake you are right, you have the steepest learning curve of anyone I know. You could learn." He grew quiet. "Please, Tempe, just think about it?" She sighed.

"I will give it some thought."

"Thanks." They fell silent again. "Take care, Tempe. Let me know what you decide. I hope that you feel better."

"I will, Russ."

"I love you." She sighed.

"I love you, too." A soft click at the other end told her that Russ had hung up the phone. She ended the call from her end, sitting and holding the telephone in her hand absentmindedly.

Brennan gave a soft, faltering laugh. Her brother wanted her to become a registered foster parent. He wanted to entrust the care of Amy's children, whom he viewed and loved as his own, to her if anything happened. She didn't understand.

She carefully tucked the telephone back into its base and reassumed her position on the sofa, throwing the blanket back over herself and snuggling beneath it. She needed to think.

Almost without thinking, Brennan grabbed for her cell phone and flipped it open to call Booth. He would be able to give her answers. The digital display on the phone made her falter. It was shortly after four in the afternoon; Booth would still be at work. If he couldn't take her call, he would surely call her immediately after, but she didn't want to pull him away from his work.

She closed the cell phone and turned it over slowly in her hand, deep in thought. And then she made a decision.

Swinging her legs over the edge of the couch, she stood and hurried into her bathroom. She washed her face, applied a touch of makeup, and ran a brush through her hair before pulling on a pair of jeans and a simple long-sleeved white blouse. Gathering her cell phone, keys and wallet, Brennan grabbed a light jacket and left her apartment, carefully locking the door behind her.

She wasn't sure what made her do it, and it was her own motive that she questioned nearly the entire route to her destination as she made her way through the late afternoon traffic of Washington, D.C. Finally pulling into a parking space shaded by tall, sturdy oaks, she cut the engine of the car and leaned back in her seat, taking a momentary breath before opening the door of the car and stepping out onto the pavement.

It was peaceful now, the late spring sun still high in the sky, rays cutting through the thick foliage of the beautiful trees and bushes of the landscape. Despite the rain over the weekend, the ground was hard and dry below the thick carpet of grass interspersed by patches of moss where the sunlight didn't quite touch.

Brennan was the only person there. Good, she thought. Just as she had anticipated.

She trod the gravel path to her mother's headstone. Finding it, she swallowed, lost for words. She sighed at the absurdity of talking to a slab of marble, but Booth's instructions still rang clear in her head.

She stood carefully to the left, and before she could stop herself, she sank to the ground, sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms loosely draped around them, eye-level with her mother's name.

Or, rather, then name that she had known her mother by. The person that she, Temperance, remembered.

With a quiet scoff, she realized that she had forgotten to bring flowers. But it wasn't about that, she knew.

"Hi, Mom, it's me, Temperance," she said in the same quiet, unsure voice as she had used the very first time that Booth had convinced her to do this. The handful of times that she had come here, she used the same introduction on each occasion. "I know you probably can't hear me, but I love the thought that maybe, somehow, my words will reach you."

She unclasped her hands and stretched her legs out in front of her before crossing them and sitting, Indian-style, with her hands folded in her lap before continuing.

"Russ wants me to become a foster parent," she said. "He wants me to take care of Amy's girls if something were to happen to her. I am hesitant about whether I should.

"I don't want kids, Mom. I know that I used to, but I am not having children. Russ… Russ knows that. And he asked me anyway. I just don't know whether I should. I like Emma and Hailey very much, but stepping in as a parent? I have no direct experience caring for a child. I could never be a mother, not a good one. Why would Russ think anything different?"

She paused, taking a breath. She knew it was stupid, but she focused on the headstone, as if she could somehow squeeze answers from the etchings of her mother's name into the headstone. But the grooves were still and silent, as she knew they would be.

"And does it really matter? Either way, they would still end up in the foster system in that scenario. Still bounced from place to place like a pinball."

The gentle wind blew through the cemetery, rustling the leaves of the trees above her.

_It doesn't matter, you're still Auntie Temperance to them._

Booth's voice resounded clearly in her head.

"But they are Russ' family, so they are like my family, too, right?" she asked, more to herself than her mother's headstone. "If they were with me, I would be able to make sure that they received the care that they deserve. Logistically, I have the necessary space and the monetary resources. But the time?" she scoffed at her thoughts. "Rationally, I love my work and would not have the time to devote."

Silence again. A small cloud moved in front of the sun, partially obstructing its direct light from falling across the hundreds of headstones around her.

"Even if I were to take them in as a foster parent, my job is very high-risk. Even if something like that were to happen to Amy, it is statistically improbable that the outcome would be long-term and unfavorable. And it would only be until Russ could return to take care of them.

"I don't want kids, Mom," she said, almost as if in an attempt to convince her of something. "I don't want to risk abandoning them."

_But maybe, _she thought, _it would be worse to turn my back on them. _

"He didn't realize it at the time, but that's what Russ did to me," she said aloud. "I don't want them to go through what I went through."

And Brennan's decision was made.

She rose to her feet and brushed the dirt and grass from her jeans. Crossing her arms, she stood for a moment, simply looking at the headstone, her eyes tracing the familiar ridges of engraving in the shining marble.

It was only a headstone, she thought stupidly. But she inexplicably drew a sense of comfort from simply looking at her mother's name on the headstone, knowing that a part of her, even if it was just her bones, was below. It was the same closeness that she found when she turned the tarnished metal of the old belt buckle over in her hands from time to time, when she simply wanted to remember.

Brennan wasn't one for sentiment, but right now, she realized, she had neglected her empiricism to a degree. After all, she was talking to a headstone.

She wondered briefly how people could do this on a regular basis without calling their own sanity into questions.

"I'm sorry that I forgot to bring flowers," she said apologetically, tucking her hands into her pockets. She didn't exactly know who she was talking to, but the apology calmed her. Brennan turned and made her way back along the sunlit path to her car. A shrill chirp from her cell phone brought her quickly out of her reverie.

"Brennan," she answered.

"Dr. Brennan, it's Zack," her assistant's voice came through the phone with a note of frustration. "I think I've hit a dead end and I wanted to call because I thought you'd appreciate an update, but Angela told me that she would shut my trap forcefully if I disturbed you, and although I don't know what that means I believe it alludes to doing something that would render me unable to aid in this investigation, so I had to wait until she left the lab to call you. Is this a bad time?" He said all of this extremely quickly. Brennan chuckled softly.

"It's okay, Zack, you didn't disturb me. What is it?"

* * *

That's all she wrote for now!

Please keep on reviewing. I looooooove your feedback!

Later, gators.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I don't own it, please don't sue me. K thanks.

* * *

If I Should Fall—Chapter 15

* * *

There was an unusual dimple in the T3 vertebra that she couldn't quite identify, regardless of how many times she turned it over in her gloved hand. She held it beneath the well-lit magnifier for a better look, maneuvering her shoulder to catch a stray lock of hair that had come loose from her ponytail before it fell into her face.

Though she had learned, after working at the Jeffersonian for several years, to more or less tune out the telltale beeping of security access cards as a member of the team entered and exited the platform, she was very much aware of the familiar footfalls of her partner as he approached.

Late Wednesday morning had arrived, finding Temperance Brennan quite happily back at the lab. The fish tank drowning case had been closed just an hour ago, and so it was back to identifying one of the 10,000 sets of remains from modular skeletal storage. That was, before the interruption.

"Bones," he said, catching her attention. Hodgins and Zack, who had been focused on their work nearby, looked up and turned their heads eagerly as Booth tried to get Brennan to look up from her work.

"Hey," she said without taking her eyes from the small chunk of bone in her hands, "We have a case?" He shrugged.

"Nah, stuff in the homicide division is dead boring right now."

"As irony spills over from that bit of diction," Hodgins muttered under his breath. Booth ignored him.

"So then why are you here?" Her eyes were still fixed on the baffling bone dimple. She readjusted the magnifier and augmented the light.

"Can't I just come by, say hello to my favorite forensic anthropologist, without my motive being called into question?" She looked up at him at last, trying and failing to read the expression on his face.

"What do you want, Booth?"

"Lunch?" His inflection said question, but his face said statement. Brennan made the decision for him.

"I'm busy."

"Oh, come on, that guy's been dead forever. He can wait another hour."

"Forever implies infinite amount, and as infinity is merely an idea created by the human brain in an attempt to measure innumerable quantities. It is physically impossible vis-à-vis our current time-space continuum to transverse an infinite amount of time, implying a beginning point, ergo the subject cannot possibly have been expired forever," Zack put in from his station nearby. Booth turned slowly in exaggerated anger and glared at him. Zack quickly fell silent and turned back to his own work, leaving a momentary silence hanging between Booth and Brennan.

"It's true," she said simply. "And furthermore, these remains are female. Not a guy."

"Figure of speech, Bones, figure of speech. Lunch?"

"I'm not hungry."

"But," Booth protested, sneaking a latex glove from the box and stealthily slipping it onto his hand, "you have _got_ to eat. Besides, we're going to Wong Foo's. Sid is bound to find something that is easy on your stomach." Brennan rolled her eyes.

"What makes you think I'm not eating just fine without your help?" she asked testily. Booth's gloved hand came out of nowhere as he made a swipe to take the bone from her hand. She was too quick for him. "Hey!" She glared at him before turning back to the bone, as though Booth's swatting at it had somehow altered the morphology of the osteons.

"I'm wearing a glove, I wouldn't have tainted evidence or anything," he said defensively. "Come on, we're going." She scoffed, and was silent for a moment. She evaluated his disposition, still suspiciously eyeing his gloved hand. He followed the path of her eyes and reluctantly removed the glove. "See? I'm not going to touch the bone. And all of this," he made a sweeping gesture toward the neatly-laid out bones on the stainless steel table, "will all be here when you come back."

"You're not going to shoot me if I don't go with you," she said with a wavering note of challenge in her tone that he was quite sure she didn't mean. Booth sighed, tossing his glove into a nearby waste container. He turned back to his partner with a pleading look in his eyes.

"Please?" he asked, giving her a small smile. Brennan tilted her head to the side as she often did when pondering people's intentions. At last, she nodded.

"Clear it with Cam."

"It's already done," he said, grinning at her. Brennan replaced the vertebra on the table, and without a change in expression, she pulled off her gloves with a snap. Booth's face visibly brightened. "Excellent!"

"Let me just grab my things from my office—" but she cut herself off midsentence when Booth reached over to a chair behind her and produced her jacket and bag with a cheesy grin on his face. She gave a quick laugh under her breath and a minute shake of the head. "You are unbelievable."

"This is something that I already know," he said, taking her lab coat from her and exchanging it for the cream-colored one that she promptly slipped over the ¾ length sleeves of the knee-length, maroon dress that she wore. He handed her bag over and slung her lab coat over a chair on the platform.

"Not unbelievable, as in wonderful and amazing. Unbelievable, as in I can't believe the lengths you went to just for a little bit of lunch company." She led as the two of them left the platform and started toward the exit of the lab. "Are you really that desperate?" She asked, looking over at him with a smirk.

"Whoa, whoa, first of all, I am not _desperate_. And secondly, we humans gotta eat sometimes. The way I figure it, we both need to eat, so we might as well do it together," he grinned at her and held the door open as they left the museum.

The warm midday air was a welcome surprise. It was a beautiful day, the azure blue sky speckled with sparse, white clouds. Freshly planted flowers crowded the planters and lawns round the entrance to the museum, emitting a light, pleasant floral scent. Brennan couldn't help but close her eyes and let the sunlight warm her face. But only for a couple of seconds, after which she opened her eyes to find Booth looking at her curiously, standing several feet ahead of her.

"You okay?" he asked, concern beginning to swim in his eyes. She nodded, pulling her sunglasses out of her bag and slipping them onto her face. An abrupt feeling of self-consciousness at the realization that her scar was visible to the public at the moment caused her to reach back and hurriedly yank the elastic band out of her hair.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm fine." She took several swift steps to catch up to her partner and hastily ran her fingers through her hair in an effort to smooth it out. He donned his own sunglasses and the two walked alongside each other the rest of the way to his car.

* * *

"You never answered my question before."

The two of them were seated at the gently lit bar of Wong Foo's, awaiting the arrival of their food when Sid returned with it. Rather, Booth was eager about the food, while Brennan was more interested in the glass of water that sat on a paper coaster in front of her. Booth had popped a few peanuts into his mouth from the dish on the bar, and was forced to chew and swallow them quickly in order to answer Brennan's question.

"Which question?"

"You made a point of telling me that I had to eat—"

"Well, Bones, that's kind of a physiological inevitability…"

"I know that, let me finish," she paused to take a sip of her water. "You said I _had_ to eat, and I asked you what led you to the conclusion that I wasn't eating just fine on my own. You never answered." Booth gave her a scrutinizing look, his eyes squinting almost indiscernibly. He popped another peanut into his mouth to give him time to think.

"You're thinner," he said carefully. She gave him an odd glance of warning and alarm. "I mean," he quickly corrected, understanding that she was getting the wrong idea from his comment, "that your face is thinner. Your cheekbones are sunken in. That's—" his voice trailed off, unable to find a word to finish his thought. Brennan nodded slowly, fiddling with her coaster. She turned her face back toward him, meeting his eyes and tried to project reassurance in her own glance.

"Yeah, I know," she said, understanding, and he simply held her gaze without changing his expression. "I'm trying, Booth," she said quietly, willing him to understand. "I'm fighting this the best way that I know how. I promise." He nodded, swallowing.

"I know," he said. "I believe you. It's just—I'm still worried." Brennan scoffed softly.

"About what? It's okay, Booth," she said. "I'm okay." Booth nodded skeptically, but she didn't buy it. "I have survived much worse. This thing, according to my doctors, is under control. The body of the tumor is gone, and statistically, the chance that it has metastasized and spread is extraordinarily small. The chemotherapy drugs are more of a precaution than a treatment. I just have to ride out the unpleasant side effects. But I can handle it. I'm going to be fine."

Brennan gave her partner a tentative smile, and he returned the gesture. They held their gaze for a moment, his brown eyes fixated on her blue ones, simply searching each other for the confirmation of trust that both knew was there. Booth blinked and cleared his throat softly.

"I know you will," he said, "you're a fighter." She set her jaw and nodded, a twinkle in her eyes.

"This is something that I already know." Both of their smiles grew wider. As if on cue, Sid emerged from the kitchen with their meals.

"Alrighty," he said, setting the dishes down on the bar in front of them. "Mee krob and a slice of apple pie for you, Booth, and for the lovely Dr. Brennan I have a bowl of delectable steamed rice with duck and extra veggies, low on the seasonings, sure to be easy on the stomach." He grinned at the two of them. "Cheers."

"Thanks, Sid," they chorused. Brennan picked up her chopsticks and took a small bite more to pacify Booth than anything else. Satisfied, he began on his own lunch, taking the more American eating-with-a-fork approach that he usually did.

"By the way, you should have let me help you with the paperwork on the Campbell case after it was closed," Brennan said as she picked up a small chunk of bamboo between the chopsticks.

"It was no big deal. You've finished paperwork on cases by yourself before. Just thought I'd return the favor."

"I still can't believe it was the best friend's girlfriend…the two of them hardly had any connection whatsoever." Booth shrugged.

"Well, think about it. Nicoletta's long-time, childhood friend happened to be male. Even if there was nothing romantic between the two of them, his girlfriend perceived their closeness as a threat. Ergo, she killed the girl and doused her with chemicals from her own lab that she knew would wreak havoc on the body."

"It's appalling how many of the crimes that we work have been committed on completely illogical ground." She took a bite of the rice in her bowl.

"Hey, love is—there are some emotions that are completely irrational."

"I disagree, all emotions are caused by some sort of chemical change in the brain, all directed in favor of the survival of the species."

"But the perception of those emotions is subjective," he said, swallowing a gulp of water. "Otherwise, we wouldn't be needed half as much."

"It's hard to believe that people's perceptions can be so disillusioned as to drive actions like murder. Anthropologically—"

"…and here we go…" Booth muttered under his breath, turning his attention back to his lunch.

"—the idea of love is predicated on biological or romantic attachments between humans that drives a need to protect and to nurture those involved in relationships that matter the most. In evolution, those who are able to make the most such connections, the ones that are considered to be the most beloved members, will survive and reproduce in the interest of the species. Ergo, when a murder is committed or halted based on the perception of love, the more important, loved members of a society are being protected. It's all about the release of serotonin and norepinephrine for the survival of the species."

"Wow," Booth said slowly. "Wow, yeah, that's a very, very deep pile of crap." Brennan shrugged.

"It's true."

"No, it's not, you just used a lot of very big, intelligent words to make it sound true."

"It's fact."

"I don't believe that."

"Why?"

"You love your father," Booth said simply. Brennan was a little taken aback.

"Yes, because he's my _father_."

"He was also a member of a strong-arm, bank-robbing bunch of criminals, he has killed at least two people and he abandoned you as a child. You want to apply anthropology to the situation? Try me. As a father, he ran out on you and your brother. As a killer, he has taken lives of other members of society, and as a criminal he has stolen from the society of which he was a member. By all of your criteria, there is no logical, rational, sociological reason why he should still be a loved member of society."

Brennan fell silent, partially in thought about her partner's words and partially angry that he had brought it up. She opened her mouth to retort, but could not find the words.

"Loving your father isn't a bad thing, Bones. In fact, it's a really good thing."

"Okay, I'm confused, you just said—"

"That was to prove a point. According to your criteria, you shouldn't love him. But you do. The point is that love isn't always rational. And love can drive people to do some pretty illogical, irrational things. Murder is only one in the wide, wide world of doors that someone in love can be driven to open. So going back to where this whole conversation," he made a wide, sweeping gesture with his hand, "started, it's not surprising to see so many acts like this committed out of love."

He took a very large bit of rice noodles and chewed, looking at her face, trying to read her. An almost imperceptible nod of her head, and he grinned, though keeping his mouth closed. One corner of her mouth turned upward in a smile and she turned her head more slightly toward him.

"What?" she asked.

"I just won that argument," he said, squaring his shoulders as if in dominance.

"It wasn't an argument."

"Then what was it?"

"A simple exchange of ideas."

"Ah, but you see," Booth began, smirking. "If you had won, you would have called it an argument."

"It wasn't an argument," Brennan repeated, her voice raised half an octave. She shook her head and turned back to her food and took a larger bite of her rice. Booth crossed his arms across his chest and gave her an appraising look. Seeing his eyes on her, she halted mid-chew. "What?"

"I daresay that you have become much more open-minded since I first met you," he said with a glint of something that Brennan couldn't quite identify reflected in his dark eyes.

"I'd better watch that," she muttered in the direction of her rice bowl.

"Watch what?" She set her chopsticks down and looked at him with mischief in her eyes.

"I wouldn't want to become so open-minded that my brain falls out of my head," she said, chuckling at what Booth recognized had been her attempt at a joke. More surprised at her sudden comedic talent than anything else, he laughed.

"That's very damn poetic of you, Bones. And very rehearsed. How long have you been waiting to use that line?"

"A while," she admitted sheepishly. "Does that mean it doesn't count?"

"You get an A for effort Bones," he said, taking another sip from his water glass and gave her an approving look. "I'll let that one slide."

Their eyes met again in laughter. Booth realized with contentment that she had eaten over half of her meal and had not once complained of stomach trouble. He tore his eyes from hers, concentrating harder now on his slice of pie.

"For what it's worth, though," he began, his tone sober. "I'm glad that you took the risk."

"What risk?"

"Loving your father even if it is against all reason." He looked back at her contemplative face. A faint smile passed over it.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm glad, too."

* * *

Despite the fact that she had successfully kept her almost constant fatigue at bay for the duration of the morning, Brennan began to feel it creeping back in after she had returned from lunch that afternoon. Booth had dropped her off back at the Jeffersonian with a simple "Thanks for the meal," and a promise of calling her if they got a case.

She arrived back to her office and found that she had no immediate requests for her assistance, save for the latest remains from Limbo. The wave of desire for sleep washed over her, tempting her strongly. With a sigh, she decided that it couldn't hurt to lie down for a few minutes. And so, setting the alarm on her cell phone for 30 minutes and pulling her blanket over her, she cozied up on the couch in her office and succumbed to her drowsiness.

Her dozing was wrought with fitful dreams as thirty minutes turned to forty-five.

She was in the lab, like always, but she realized that something was terribly wrong as she bent over these remains. She knew these fractures, the healed parry fractures on the phalanges indicating defensive wounds, the chipping on the left lateral metatarsal from a dropped bowling ball, the clavicle broken from falling out of a treehouse at age 11, barely noticeable damage to the temporal bone from where a gun had slammed into it, the broken wrist from New Orleans and the sparring on C2 caused by a modified cattle prod to the back of the head.

Every anomaly so familiar, just as she had imagined they would be when this time came for these remains to be examined. But it was impossible…she rushed off to the holographics room where Angela was standing and waiting, and the face in the Angelator was her own, and she began to panic and tell her best friend that her reconstruction was wrong.

"This is the face, Sweetie," she said over and over again. "This is the face that goes with the skull." But when Brennan rushed back to the platform, the phalanges of the skeleton were slowly smoldering, and when she looked down at her own hands her fingertips were blackening and crumbling into ash before her eyes. And Booth and Zack were gathering the fine ash and sitting with bottles of glue as if to reassemble what was left of her hands, and Angela was running after her, calling to her.

"Brennan," she called, her voice merely an echo. "Brennan."

She turned around on the platform, but Angela had disappeared.

"Sweetie, come on."

Her world was spinning. She felt a hand gripping her shoulder, shaking her.

"Wake up, Bren, come on."

And suddenly, it stopped. Her eyes flew open and she sat bolt upright so quickly that she became dizzy and lightheaded. Closing her eyes briefly, she swallowed and forced her breathing to slow, still clutching the blanket in her hands.

"It's okay, just breathe," Angela's voice was much nearer now. Brennan opened her eyes and saw that her best friend was kneeling on the floor in front of the couch, a worried expression shadowing her face.

"I'm awake," she said defensively, as if the clarification were somehow necessary.

"You okay, sweetie?" Brennan nodded.

"Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I just had a very strange dream."

"From the way you were acting, it was more like a nightmare. Do you remember what it was about?"

"No," Brennan lied. She knew that Angela would freak out if she told her the contents of the dream. Besides, she reasoned, it was just a dream, without a shred of truth. "I'm okay."

"Alright," Angela said, drawing out the syllables, conveying doubt in her tone. Brennan exhaled, further steadying her breath. Still sitting, she folded the blanket and tucked over the back of the couch. But as she did so, something caught her eye.

There, on the small, square pillow on which she had been resting, lay three small clumps of her hair. Her hand trembled in disbelief as she reached over to pull it from the fabric into which it had been pressed by her erratic head movements while she'd been dreaming. Angela's eyes never left her.

A quick estimate told her that she was holding around 300 strands of hair in her hands. Being 10,000 hairs on the human head, she knew that nobody would notice, these strands lost during a fitful dream would not be missed.

Still, she smoothed them subconsciously, unsure of what to do. Angela's eyes shone with grief and shock.

"Oh, sweetie."

And all that Brennan could do was curl her fingers around her hair and bat back the tears that were threatening to spill over.

* * *

That's all she wrote for now.

Thanks for being such excellent readers and reviewers!


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I don't own it, please don't sue me. K thanks.

* * *

If I Should Fall—Chapter 16

* * *

Her reflection looked back at her from the mirror in the restroom at the Jeffersonian. Her hands rested on the cool marble countertop, supporting her weight as she stared on, visualizing how long it would take for her to lose the rest of her auburn locks.

Right on schedule, she thought bitterly.

She smoothed her hair, tucking it behind her ears. This time, mercifully, her hands came back with only one stray hair clinging to her palm, which she quickly brushed away before hurriedly making her way back to the lab.

Angela was waiting for her at the edge of the platform. Brennan gave her friend what she thought was a very convincing smile, but Angela wasn't fooled. She took her friend's forearm lightly as Brennan traversed the steps and started toward where Zack was working. She whipped around at the unexpected touch.

Everything was in Angela's eyes. Sorrow, fear, sympathy, all emotions that Brennan was more or less feeling herself. She smiled again, this time filling her eyes with apology.

"I'm okay, Ange, really," she spoke slowly, her voice lowered. She found that she was assuring herself just as much as her friend when. "It is to be expected, one of the most physically noticeable effects of the treatment. According to my oncologist, it's nothing to worry about, and there is a chance that it won't all fall out. Don't get ahead of yourself worrying, okay?" Angela nodded. Still, though, she looked visibly shaken.

"I'm supposed to be the one comforting you." Brennan shrugged.

"Yeah, well, I'm not really bothered," Brennan said calmly. "It's only hair, it will grow back, and it might not all fall out. Besides, I've had some time to get used to the idea."

"The idea of what, being, you know, bald?"

"Yes," she said simply in reply. Angela sighed, clearly bothered by her best friend's indifference.

"I know how you see things, Bren, but sometimes I wish that you would act more like a normal person." Brennan tilted her head, her eyebrows furrowing subtly.

"My reaction is normal, Ange, it's just rational rather than emotional." Angela looked as if she was about to say something, to give a retort, but a voice caused both of their heads to turn.

"Dr. Brennan," Zack called from the platform, "I've finished preparing those bone slides from your Limbo case."

"Thanks, Zack," she said, her attention pulled away from Angela as she hurried over to the compound microscope. Zack handed a single glass slide to her silently and she took it, slipping it under the lens of the microscope and adjusting the focus.

"It's day 12," came Zack's voice from behind her. Brennan continued now to fiddle with the intensity of the light.

"No, I just retrieved these remains out of modular skeletal storage a few hours ago."

"That isn't what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

"It has been 12 days since your chemotherapy treatments began." Brennan straightened up to face her assistant, carefully scrutinizing his demeanor. As usual, nothing stood out. Without realizing it, her hand was on her hip. Zack's eyes weakened under her gaze.

"While that is correct, Zack, I fail to see how it pertains to the remains that we are striving to identify."

"Because alopecia generally occurs between 10 and 14 days following initial exposure to the chemotherapeutic agents, I was merely wond—"

"That," Brennan said evenly and without emotion, turning back to the unexamined bone slide, "is neither relevant nor your concern." From her peripheral vision, she saw Zack nod.

"I apologize, Dr. Brennan," he said calmly.

"Would you please finish categorizing the anomalies of this young woman's remains? I would like to turn the skull over to Angela for a reconstruction as soon as possible. Whoa," she said in surprise upon examining the slide.

"Dr. Brennan?"

"This bone shows evidence of analogous marrow transplantation."

"Common in leukemia treatment," Zack said, nodding. "I'll tell Angela when I give her the skull for the facial reconstruction." She heard the dull thuds as Zack's footsteps receded.

"Tell Angela what?" Angela asked, approaching her friend once again.

"Our victim here had a bone marrow transplant, common in the treatment of leukemia. From the remaining blasts, it looks as though she had AML, was treated for it five years prior to her death until the cancer went into remission."

"I'll plug that into the missing person's database after she's got a face. And sweetie," she said, her voice softening. "I know that uncertainty and lack of control drive you up a wall, but if you ever decide that you want to take matters into your own hands, I'm more than willing to take you out wig shopping for an afternoon."

"Angela," Brennan said evenly, looking up from the microscope and giving her friend a look that Angela couldn't quite read.

"Hey, if you don't want to do a wig, I can design you some excellent scarves… you could be one of those super chic bald women who is all about the headwear and big earrings." This idea made Brennan chuckle.

"I doubt that."

"Oh, come on, Bren!" Angela's face was brightened by a grin. "Think about it. We could turn you into a fashionista yet."

* * *

The blue mat was warm now under her feet, but she didn't have time to notice until the end of class. Brennan knew that she needed to keep her strength up. Muscle tone lessened extremely rapidly, and she didn't want to lose the ability to keep defending herself against any potential attackers that might cross her path.

The illness and its subsequently triggered events made her feel weak. Getting back into her karate class was something she felt like she needed to do as soon as possible.

But this was the third time in a row that her usual sparring partner, a bright-eyed graduate student at Georgetown who had been practicing the martial arts from a very young age, had been able to take her down. Usually, the two of them were very well matched. As the young woman extended her arm to help Brennan to her feet, she frowned.

"Dr. Brennan, are you sure—"

"It's okay, Molly, I'm just trying to get back into form." The young woman nodded.

"Understandable," she said. The neuroscience researcher had quickly noticed, and been intrigued by, the scar at the back of her sparring partner's neck. It was impossible to hide here, as long hair had to be pulled back during sparring.

The two of them took up their positions again. This time, Brennan was able to take Molly down, the student's vibrant red hair whipping in front of her face.

"That's it, Temperance," the sensei nodded with approval. "Time remains for one more match if you are both up to it." There was no question as they were both on their feet and took up stance again. The bell on the door tinkled as the other students began to leave the dojo.

Brennan and Molly began to spar once again, a whirlwind of movement accompanied by the clap of feet, hands and wrists as each threw and blocked a combination of offensive maneuvers. Brennan was focused, trying hard to come out of this one victorious. Her back kick was met with a hooking block, followed by a rising punch, which she met with an open hand block and countered with a knee strike—

"Hey, Bones, playtime's over, let's go!"

The momentary diversion of attention that followed resulted in Brennan's being completely knocked off of her feet and she landed, flat on her back on the thick foam mat. She sat upright quickly, glaring at Booth, who was standing a few yards away from her, arms crossed over his chest and wearing a smirk. She took Molly's outstretched hand and got to her feet, brushing off her gi.

"Tut, tut, that's what happens when you don't pay attention," Booth taunted. "You get knocked flat on your ass. The sensei might have to revoke your black belt for that one."

"Back, Booth, on my back." She stood facing Molly and, out of respect for the custom, the two bowed to each other. "Thanks, Molly, see you next week?"

"Definitely," the young woman grinned. "Hope you feel better." Molly disappeared around the corner, leaving Brennan to turn back to Booth.

"What do you want?" she asked, grabbing her water bottle and gym bag from where it sat several feet away.

"You're out of breath." He was taunting her. Playfully, but still taunting.

"Because I'm irritated with you, you broke my focus."

"It was necessary. We've gotta hustle, we're late for our appointment with Sweets." Brennan groaned and they shared an eye roll.

"I might have forgotten," she said, hoisting her bag over her shoulder.

"Might have?" Booth raised his eyebrow at her rebelliously. Meeting his gaze, she knew he could read her too well, and so she let out an exasperated sigh.

"Okay, so I was trying to… what do you call it?"

"Play hooky?"

"Yes, that," she said. She scrutinized Booth for a minute. "We have to go?"

"Remember the last time that we missed his session? He not only tracked us down in the diner, but he refused to help with cases for a week and a half. Yes, we have to go."

"I'm just going to go and change quickly."

"No," Booth said, catching her arm. "There's no time for that." She whipped around to grab him by the wrist.

"You do realize that, being where we are, I am fully licensed to flatten you."

"You wouldn't," he said, whipping out the charm smile. But Brennan was unfazed.

"Wouldn't I?" His grin fell as he released her arm. "Thank you, I'll be back in a moment." And with that, she turned and rounded the corner to the locker room, Booth looking after her.

Same old Brennan, he thought, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

Ten minutes later, they were both seated in the familiar SUV. Booth had just hung up on Sweets, who had called his cell phone to ask whether he and Dr. Brennan were planning on attending their session that evening. He had been, in her opinion, a little mean in his explanation to the young psychotherapist, but had assured him that they would indeed be gracing his presence in 15 minutes. Brennan looked over at her partner, scrutinizing the expression on his face.

"You're sulking," she said suddenly.

"I'm not," Booth turned his head slightly and shot her an annoyed glance.

"You look irked."

"Irked? Who uses the word 'irked'?"

"Is it because I don't want to go talk to Sweets?"

"No, I don't want to talk to the kid either. You know I hate it."

They fell silent again, and a stolen glance a few moments later showed her that Booth's expression had inexplicably softened. The muscles of his jaw and hands had relaxed noticeably, so Brennan dropped the conversation and turned back to the window, watching the incandescent lights of Washington, DC pass quickly by her window on the familiar route to the Hoover building.

"My hair started falling out today," she said suddenly after several minutes had passed. Appalled, Booth turned his head to look at her.

"Oh," was all that he could say. He cleared his throat, but remained silent.

"I wanted to give you advanced notice," she continued.

"Advanced notice?"

"Yes, so that you won't be taken aback if you see me without hair."

"Oh," he said again, stopping at a red light and turning to face her. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Booth," she said, meeting his gaze with honesty. "Just trying to make conversation."

"Because…?"

"We're partners and partners tell each other things. You told me that once," she said, turning back to the window. "The light is green."

"Okay," he said, depressing the gas pedal again. "Thanks for letting me know."

"You're welcome," she said, glad that he hadn't become overly emotional upon receiving this update in her condition. "Angela kind of freaked out about it." Booth chuckled.

"Well, that's Angela, isn't it?" Brennan frowned, confused.

"I don't understand."

"What I mean is that Angela's…well…a _girl_."

"So am I."

"Well, yes, but Angela is much more emotional. She's your best friend, she's just worried about you. Not everybody handles things as calmly and rationally as you do."

"I know," she said, his diction still snagging at something in her mind. "Does that make me less of a woman?"

"No, but—"

"Because I clearly meet all of the physiological and anatomical qualifications."

"I know that, Bones, geez," he pulled at last into the parking lot of the FBI building. "I can see that you are, indeed, a woman."

"Then why did you say that?"

"Say what?"

"You are insinuating that my preference for logic over emotion and my ability to compartmentalize are indications that I am somehow not a true woman." Booth's mouth went slack and his eyes took over a sort of deer-in-the-headlights look.

"I never said that."

"Yes, you did!" Brennan's voice raised an octave in frustration as they traversed the parking garage and pushing the call button for the elevator. "I'm telling Dr. Sweets."

"You can't go tattling to our psychotherapist!"

"Not tattling, just bringing up an issue that is clearly causing tension between us."

"You, Bones, you are the one who is misinterpreting what I am saying."

"It takes two to tango." They entered the elevator and the door slid shut in front of them.

"How do you even know that phrase?"

"Trying to divert my attention won't work."

"Okay, fine." He punched the button to take them up to the 6th floor and stuffed his hands into his pockets. He was silent, jaw set, staring at a fixed spot on the elevator wall. Brennan crossed her arms and looked at him expectantly. "What?"

"Nothing, I just thought you were going to offer an explanation."

It was then that Booth realized that he was digging himself into a hole. The elevator arrived at the desired floor and the doors slid open again. Booth stepped out first, followed by Brennan, and he pulled his still irritated partner aside, figuring that it would be better to resolve this one far away from Sweets.

"You process things differently than what is stereotypical of most women. Think of it like a bell curve. You just fall outside of the average, that's all. I'm not saying it's good or bad. Just an objective analysis." Brennan's jaw unclenched and she moistened her lips, processing his statement. At last, she nodded.

"Let's go, Dr. Sweets is going to be upset with us for the being late," she gave him a tiny smirk. "Not that it matters to me." He inwardly breathed a sigh of relief as the two of them rounded the corner to the correct office, hoping that Sweets wouldn't give them too much hell that evening.

"Care to explain your tardiness?" The young psychotherapist questioned them as they entered, taking his feet down form where they had been propped up on his desk.

"Bones had karate."

"And you didn't think to inform me?"

"Nope," Booth said, sharing a glance with his partner. Brennan kept her face impassive, though she knew that Booth was more or less trying to get back into her good graces. For now, she would let him.

"Okay," Sweets laced his fingers together and studied them for a moment quietly. "Well, I know how much you love the role playing—" both Booth and Brennan visibly slumped in their seats. "—but tonight, I have a different exercise for you. It will allow me to evaluate and discern potential communication issues between you two."

He handed a sheet of paper and a pen to each of them. Booth saw Brennan look down at her paper and give a tiny smile, so he quickly glanced down at his own sheet as well.

_You and your partner are shipwrecked, floating in a life raft in the middle of unknown waters. You have managed to salvage 15 items, as well as a supply of matches, from the wreckage. Please rank the items in order of importance, 1 denoting the biggest asset, and 15 denoting the item of least importance._

Great, a puzzle, he thought as he skimmed the list of objects that followed. No wonder Brennan was so thrilled. She had already begun to make notes on her paper.

"I would like you both to look at these, and I will give you ten minutes to make a preliminary assessment. Then you will be asked to fill out another sheet and agree upon the order of importance of the items." Booth groaned.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

That's all she wrote for now.

I love you all so much for taking the time to read and review this! It makes me very happy

Don't forget to review!


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I don't own it, please don't sue me. K thanks.

* * *

If I Should Fall—Chapter 17

* * *

The following Saturday, as with several before it, brought Brennan back to the Washington Memorial Hospital. This week, though, she was also scheduled for blood tests and another MRI.

And if things went well, if those test results came back clear, this would be her last week of chemotherapy treatments. Brennan didn't believe in jinxes, but that morning, while the phlebotomist was drawing a vial of her blood for testing, she crossed her fingers for luck.

Before Dr. Laskey, her neuron-oncologist, released her into the main hospital for her chemotherapy, he gave her reassuring news: he didn't believe that the tumor would have any lasting effects, and that there was nothing to keep Brennan from making a complete recovery.

"You should be completely back to normal within the month," he had assured her, his gray eyes shining. "Of course, I'm going to recommend that you come in for periodic MRIs, monthly for the first four months after the chemo stops and then twice a year after that."

"For how long?"

"Until I am satisfied that this CPP tumor has been completely eradicated," he explained. "Probably two or three years. But don't worry, we'll discuss the details of that later."

"That's fair," Brennan said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

With his okay, she took off to the oncology ward of the hospital for what would be, she hoped, her last agonizing chemotherapy treatment. The previous two weeks, Angela had insisted on being there at the start of each session. This week, though, Brennan sat back in her bed and exposed the crook of her arm, allowing the needle to be inserted without somebody else squeezing her hand.

While she was a very independent, well-adjusted person, she found that she was opening up to the idea of not having to live her life alone. She had once confided this to Angela, telling her that being alone was the only thing she knew.

But now? Since becoming friends with her, since meeting Booth, her foundation had begun to shift. Very slowly, but it had begun.

She had felt like she'd given up too much of herself to Sully two years ago, and had regretted that upon the realization. He wanted to be a part of her life, he had wanted to make her _his_ life. But it was too much, too soon. And as much as she had told herself that it was only a fling, a part of her couldn't help but speculate on what her life would be like had Sully not sailed off into the early morning light that day.

She didn't have any qualms at all with telling Angela things. In fact, she genuinely liked their heart-to-heart talks. And it was the same way with Booth.

They were her friends, but they were also the anomalies.

Everyone else that she had truly cared for had left her.

She turned her head and gazed out the familiar window at the darkened sky, watching the rhythmic hum of rain tip-tapping on the window pane. The rolling clouds that cloaked the sky were a deep charcoal, with the effect that the nurse had to turn on the overhead light to see what she was doing.

As the slow drip of the intravenous line allowed the chemotherapeutic agents access to her body, she had the sudden urge to go outside and dance in the rain. She smiled to herself, shaking her head. It was silly.

She picked up her book again, but found herself unable to concentrate. The only things on television were children's cartoons and soap operas, of which she was not a fan. But she couldn't bring herself to pull out her laptop.

In a fit of restlessness, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and slipped on her shoes. She stood and took hold of the IV pole, the cool, smooth steel soothing her hand. After a quick check to be sure that the pole was not somehow rooted to the wall, she began to walk, taking the IV pole with her.

The oncology ward was quiet, as it usually was. The blue-and-white linoleum tiles had been waxed recently, but that didn't stop the small wheels of the IV pole that she still guided from giving off tiny squeaks every once in a while. Brennan wasn't quite sure where she was going, but she kept walking, one foot in front of the other.

A single nurse sat at the station, busy with paperwork. Brennan kept walking, peering into the windows of some of the rooms, the ones with the blinds open. She rounded the corner into the children's section; it was much more brightly colored, almost cheerful. With a stab of pain she was reminded of Amy Cullen, and what her parents had gone through.

It must be terrible to watch your child suffer through a terminal illness, she thought sadly, observing the sunken eyes and disheveled appearances of the parents here. But, she noticed, all of them had stayed by their children's sides. Each child was accompanied by at least one family member, a dozen or so balloons or flowers or get-well-soon teddy bears.

Except for one.

The girl looked to be around 12, and was quietly reading in her room. Nobody was with her, and her room was devoid of the usual balloons and cheerful messages of optimism. For a moment, Brennan stared. Her hair was completely gone, even her eyebrows, and she was dressed in a simple purple pajama top; a sign that she was probably one of the long-term patients. Children suffering from illnesses like this shouldn't be alone, she thought, turning to walk away.

As she walked past the open door, though, she heard the girl's voice.

"Hey!" Brennan turned. The girl had set her book down and was talking to her, and she was confused.

"Can I help you?" Brennan asked, adjusting her footing to relieve the strain on the IV line. The girl's eyes suddenly shone with disappointment, and she retrieved her book again.

"Oh, never mind," she stammered. "I thought you were—never mind."

"You thought I was whom?"

"It's not important, I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am." Brennan chuckled softly, leaning against the doorframe. "Why are you laughing?"

"I haven't been called ma'am in a long time."

"What do people call you, then?"

"I have three Ph.D.s. People call me doctor." The child nodded in understanding.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Dr. Temperance Brennan," she said, unsure of why she was conversing with this child. "I'm—"

"Oh, I know who you are," the girl said, her face brightening. She held up the book she was reading, and Brennan saw that it was a copy of her first novel. "I love your book."

"Aren't you a little young to be reading those?" she asked, moving into the child's room before she was quite able to stop herself. The girl shrugged.

"Nothing I haven't seen on TV or read somewhere else. I really love mystery novels, and your writing is great." Brennan smiled. "Chemo, huh?" the girl asked, noticing the IV pole.

"Third treatment."

"Well, if it's any consolation, you look better than a lot of the other patients that I see in here."

"Thank you. You know, I'm in the process of writing another book. It should be out sometime next year."

"Cool! I hope that I get the chance to read it." Brennan gave her a perplexed look, and the girl understood. "I'm terminal." She said this with a strange note of pride that left Brennan confused.

"That's really not my business."

"It is actually," the girl said. "Bone cancer, and bones are your thing. My name is Clara Elwood, by the way," she said, holding out her hand. Brennan shook it.

"Nice to meet you, Clara. I don't usually get to meet too many of my readers."

"Why?"

"My publicist knows that I'm not great with social interaction." Clara shrugged.

"You seem alright to me." Brennan chuckled.

"Thanks."

"That being said," Clara's voice was suddenly timid. "Will you sign my book, please?" Brennan gave her a scrutinizing look. Despite her illness, the girl's clear brown eyes that sparkled with hope. She smiled.

"Of course," she said as Clara handed her the book and found a pen. "If you don't mind me asking, where are your parents?"

"Oh, my dad is at work… he works security at Dulles, and he's had to put in a lot of extra time for this ordeal. Our insurance isn't great."

"What about your mother?"

"Now you're just prying, but I'll answer anyway. She skedaddled right after I was born. She never wanted kids and I guess the idea just scared her."

"How old are you, Clara?"

"I'll be thirteen in July," she said, beaming proudly. "I finish the seventh grade next month."

"You're still going to school?"

"Of course. I want to live my life as normally as possible, and I really like school. I have a tutor now, but I still love to learn." She swallowed uncomfortably. "I used to want to work for the CIA. It won't ever happen, but I guess I want to get as far as I can anyway. Does that sound stupid?"

Truthfully, it did sound a little stupid at first, but Brennan understood where she was coming from. If there was some tiny sliver of hope, this child would hang on to it. It was more than she would have done herself, with her faith in the statistics rather than the anomalies. She looked at the girl, picked up the pen and smiled.

"No, Clara," she said. "That's not stupid at all." She signed the inside cover of the book, shut it, and handed it back to the girl.

"Thank you so much," Clara said, beaming.

"You're welcome." Brennan gave her a reassuring smile. "I should get back to my own room. The nurses will be wondering where I am. But it was great to meet you, Clara."

"It was amazing to meet you, too! I hope that I get to read your next book."

"Me, too."

Brennan swallowed heavily, turning to go back to her room. The restlessness that had compelled her to leave had evaporated, leaving her feeling tired, so she plodded back down the hall to her room, and climbed back into bed.

"Oh, there you are, Dr. Brennan," Sheila, the day nurse, said with a note of relief in her voice. "We were worried sick. You shouldn't just up and leave like that in the middle of a treatment."

"It was the beginning of the treatment, not the middle, and I am fine." Sheila still looked skeptical.

"Of course you are," she said, sounding unconvinced. "Anyway, you're going to have some explaining to do when your friends get back. They are canvassing to try to find you."

"They'll be back eventually."

And they were. Angela found her first and quickly made a phone call that brought Booth rushing into the room, both demanding to know what exactly had possessed her to leave in the middle of chemotherapy. Their faces softened when she answered simply that she had been restless, and they seemed to accept her answer.

Brennan wasn't completely sure why Booth and Angela had both come to the hospital this week, but she decided not to push the envelope for an answer. She quickly found herself becoming too tired to analyze the situation. Booth began to wander over to the window, looking around curiously at the IV pole.

"That's the chemo?" Brennan nodded.

"Yes," she answered.

"Huh," he said, "I expected something more…" his voice trailed off and he made a vague, sweeping gesture with his hand.

"Intense?"

"Yeah," he said, shrugging. Angela looked back and forth between them, but said nothing. "So when can you get out of here?"

"When the treatment has been fully administered. By my approximation, it should take another 30-40 minutes. Then the nurse will come in, remove the IV line, and I will be free to go."

Booth and Angela sat with her, watching television and talking, for the rest of the treatment. And soon it was time to go, but as Brennan tried to stand she felt blood draining from her head, causing it to spin. She faltered, and Angela reached out to catch her, but she was able to regain her footing on her own.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." She exhaled cautiously. "I'm fine."

But it turned out that simply walking out of the hospital would take longer than expected. Brennan dizzied and lost her strength quickly, but she kept trying, gripping her friends' shoulders to steady herself. Halfway to the elevator, though, Booth drew the line when he offered to carry her the rest of the way. She refused, as he knew that she would, but upon her refusal she found that she was being helped into a wheelchair.

"Damn stubborn," Booth muttered under his breath as Angela pressed the button to call the elevator.

"I heard that," Brennan said, still disoriented and struggling to keep her head from spinning..

"I meant you to."

"You're just mad because she won't let you carry her out," Angela smirked. The elevator arrived and Booth tactfully ignored the comment, instead pushing Brennan's wheelchair into the elevator.

It was still pouring rain outside as Booth and Angela supported Brennan into the back of the SUV, Angela climbing in behind her. The three of them rode in near silence back to Hodgins' house, where, Brennan hoped, she would be spending her last night in this state.

* * *

"Is she asleep?"

"Yeah, out like a light."

"Good, I'm glad," Angela said, giving a quiet sigh of relief. "She needs to sleep." Booth nodded in agreement, pulling the door to Brennan's room partially closed behind him.

"Yeah," he said.

"Do you want a cup of coffee or something?" Booth threw an uneasy glance behind him at the door. Angela noticed his nervousness and reached out, laying a hand on his forearm. "It's okay," she reassured him, her voice comforting. "I can go grab the coffee and we can sit out here."

"Okay," Booth said, nodding. With a gratuitous smile, Angela turned on her heel and started down the hall. In just a few minutes, she had returned with two steaming mugs and handed one to Booth. Both sat just outside of the room, their backs against the wall, sipping the coffee.

"Thanks for having me here, Angela." Booth gave her a small smile.

"As if I could really keep you away." She gave him a small smirk. "Thank you for being here. It means a lot to me, and I know it means the world to Brennan." Booth took a long draw from the mug in his hands.

"Really?" He asked.

"Definitely. We're her family, you know?" Booth nodded, swallowing.

"Yeah," he said, "I know. I told her that once." He paused. "Bones told me once that she didn't think that she was meant to be in a family. That was after everything that happened with her father and Russ popping back into her life and then her having to sit there, handcuffed to a park bench, and watch them drive away again." Angela remembered the incident well, and the effect that it had on her best friend.

"I can't even imagine," she murmered.

They fell silent again, simply sitting contentedly on the hardwood flooring of Hodgins' house, sipping their coffee. The lack of noise from the other room told Booth and Angela quite clearly that Brennan was sound asleep, and so they were able to breathe easier. Slowly, the mugs in their hands began to empty. Booth turned his gaze away from the wall ahead of him and found Angela eye-to-eye, giving him a scrutinizing, searching look, as if trying to read him.

"What?" he asked, slightly unnerved by her gaze. Angela lowered her mug and took a breath.

"Okay, so this may not be the best timing ever," she began, "but I've gotta ask, Booth."

"No," he said shortly, turning his face back to the wall.

"But—"

"We're partners, Angela."

"I know that," she said, her voice carrying a gentle nudge. "But are you seriously trying to tell me that if your partnership was severed, you wouldn't see each other anymore?"

"The FBI isn't gonna split up me and Bones, so it's not an issue." Angela raised an eyebrow.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Because it's a non-issue. Besides, we're professionals, Ange. There's a line."

"That's what Brennan told me."

"We're partners. Why would my answer be any different from hers?"

"Because Brennan sometimes needs help tuning into her emotions, catching up to her own reality."

"I see your point," Booth said, turning back toward Angela and meeting her eyes. "And I agree, but as much as you want her to catch up to whatever reality you think she has, you know as well as I do that you can't rush her into anything or she'll backslide."

"I know exactly what you mean," Angela said. "This is going to sound terrible, but I was kind of hoping that she would use this time to draw something positive from her illness, maybe start living life a little more." Booth chuckled softly.

"Bones doesn't do that."

"Doesn't do what?"

"She can't live a life without being driven by purpose," he said evenly. "That's why Gordon Wyatt said that she didn't take her sabbatical to the Caribbean with Sully."

"Do you believe that?" Angela asked quietly. "Really?"

"Yeah," Booth said, swallowing. "I can't think of any other reason why she wouldn't go."

"I can," Angela told him, raising her eyebrows. Booth scoffed.

"Don't start again."

"Okay, look, I know you don't want me to, but I'm going to go ahead and say this next thing mostly because I am sick of you two dancing around this—"

"Angela," he said, giving her a warning look. But she continued anyway.

"—You mean something to each other. You mean a lot. I know this because I see the way that your face lights up when you see her, even if she's pissed at you for something. I see it in her eyes that your presence can comfort her in ways that I can't. You would do anything to protect her, and you have without even thinking. Both of you get freaked out when the other is in mortal peril or even when you aren't talking or haven't seen each other in a while—"

"Bones," Booth laughed, "does not freak out easily."

"You should have seen her when you were abducted by that crazy ice pick hit man. She punched a bounty hunter and lied her ass off to the FBI. She wasn't thinking clearly because she was terrified that she had lost you. And you know that you would do the same for her, that you have done the same for her."

"In our line of work, we need to be protective of each other. Our lives depend on it."

"I also know that you will do anything to keep any un-partner-like, deep emotional connections squashed because you don't want to risk losing the wonderful thing you have going for you now, as partners. But let's face it, Booth, Brennan hasn't seen anyone since Sully, and you haven't had a romantic encounter since you broke it off with Cam."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"It's true, and there is no use arguing with me. Here's my theory, Booth. I think that you realized a long time ago what you guys have together, and, more importantly, what you _could_ have. I think that she realized it, too, when Sully asked her to sail off with him, maybe before, even. But knowing you, nothing is going to happen with it because you are paralyzed at the fear of losing each other, of losing this amazing thing that you have. Both of you are."

Booth had nothing to say, only managing to swallow the lump in his throat.

"So if we're so 'paralyzed with fear,' then why do you insist on playing yenta with us?"

"What?"

"Fiddler on the Roof. Answer my question, please."

"Because—" Angela's eyes met his, and he was surprised to see that, far from giddiness from thinking that she had figured him out, there were very subtle tears forming in her eyes. "—Because if you keep up with this charade, something is going to happen. Something terrible, and Brennan's cancer was almost it. And then you are going to be left with so many regrets, or worse, Bren will be shattered. We have done such a good job of breaking down her walls, Booth, and I…" her voice trailed off. For once, the artist was speechless, and all she could do was look at Booth and hope that he would understand.

And he did. Her words were unspoken, but never had Booth heard a message so clearly. With a small sigh, he rose, clearing his coffee mug and smoothing his t-shirt with his other hand.

"She is my partner, my friend, and a part of my family, Angela."

The finality in his tone was not belligerent, but one of acceptance and quiescence. Angela thought, though, that she almost perceived a waver in his voice, a quiet breath of lamentation. But he turned and peered into Brennan's room, carefully swinging the door open.

"I'll sit with her for now, if that's alright. You go get some rest, and I'll call you when I have to go." Angela nodded, now on her feet, too. She took the mug from Booth's hand and he thanked her again for the caffeine.

"If you ever need…advice," she said, the same old mischievous smile turning up at the corners of her mouth. "I'll be around." Rolling his eyes, but chuckling under his breath in spite of himself, he rested his hand on the doorframe.

"I'll remember that."

* * *

That's all she wrote for now! Thanks for sticking with it.

I'm totally sorry if this was OOC at all, but I tried.

Please review!!


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I don't own it, please don't sue me. K thanks.

* * *

If I Should Fall—Chapter 18

* * *

What scared Booth the most wasn't her sunken cheeks or the fact that her complexion seemed to grow paler, more wan by the day. He could be imagining that.

It wasn't that she could hardly keep food down anymore, or that the dizzying spells could be so bad that she was unable to hold her head up straight in the aftermath of the treatment.

Or that her nosebleeds had become increasingly more frequent, and that because of her illness Cam had disallowed her to continue with fieldwork. Brennan didn't know that yet, Booth thought, and there would be hell to pay when she found out.

It wasn't the increasing frequency with which he came to visit her only to find her fast asleep on the couch in her office.

It wasn't that, the more she tossed and turned, the more Booth found himself carefully gathering the soft strands of her hair in his hands, setting them aside for Brennan later. He wasn't sure what to do with them, and he thought it best for her to decide.

No, it wasn't any of those things.

It was that her sleep had grown less fitful. The agony was there, the excruciating pain, the same as the previous weeks. Worse, even. But now she only moaned softly in agony, allowing floods of tears to stream over and mar her porcelain cheeks.

As if she no longer had the strength to react intrinsically to the pain.

This realization terrified Booth.

But all that he could do, all that Angela could do, was sit and watch her silently endure the fiery pain that clawed at her insides, that threatened to rip her apart, keeping a constant, soothing touch on her back or her arm throughout the fits of agony when they came, reassured only by the knowledge that, eventually, the tears would stop and she would fall back into the ether, unaware.

It was better that way, both Booth and Angela knew that. This woman had been through so much, too much, heartache and mind-numbing tragedy in her life. This ordeal was one less vivid memory that could haunt her nightmares.

He stayed by her side as he had promised, his feather-light touch keeping their hands intertwined and the heel of his other hand gently tracing circles between her shoulder blades.

Sleep enveloped her tightly. When she awoke, she knew that Booth had been there, true to his word. But it was Angela who sat, quietly reading a magazine at the bedside, keeping vigil.

And Brennan couldn't rationalize away the tiny ache in her chest that arose with his absence.

* * *

_It will all be over soon._

It was irrational to make such a leap, but the more she thought about it, the easier it was to convince herself that it was true.

_This may be the last time._

She had been furious at Cam's orders to keep her out of the field, but logically she knew that it was the best course of action. So through Thursday morning, she sat in her apartment, sleeping at odd hours of the day, trying hard to make herself eat and putting her body through light calisthenics to keep up as much of her strength as possible.

Brennan didn't own many hats, but the ones she had were getting more and more use. It had been a tough decision, weighed mostly by practicality and perceived societal constructs. She didn't like to admit it, but her decision to purchase a wig had been driven, in part, by simple vanity. When it came down to it, she didn't want the pity and superfluous sympathy that came with the 'cancer patient' look.

Sitting at home, though, a bandanna was the most comfortable way to keep her head covered. It wasn't necessary, but she felt compelled to have something on her head. Each day, it was harder to look into her bathroom mirror.

Not all of her hair had fallen out. She now had a very thin, almost downy covering over her scalp now, she guessed approximately 20 of her original locks remained. She dreaded waking up now, even though she knew that it was stupid, because she hated the constant reminder of what was happening, what could have happened, to her life.

She had purchased the wig the previous Friday during her lunch hour. All she had wanted was to find something that looked as much like her own hair as possible, and, surprisingly, it hadn't taken long to succeed. Brennan simply conversed with the saleswoman and posited her request, and the kind older lady had disappeared into the back of the shop and retrieved what looked like her own hair. With a little persuasion, the wig was even cut and layered so exactly to Brennan's own hair that she doubted many people would notice the difference.

Of course, Angela had been a little disappointed that she wasn't branching out more. Brennan had laughed at her friend, telling her that nothing was stopping her from sporting the colorful, stylish headwear herself.

The boredom of her confinement was quickly making her feel as though she was trapped in her own apartment. Sure, she had hundreds of books lining the shelves, and dozens of CDs, not to mention a nearly-finished novel waiting on her computer. But the feeling of entrapment convinces her to purchase a television, a modest flat-screen that she asks the electronics store technicians to mount on her wall.

The high definition picture was fascinating to her. Granted, she has watched TV before, but usually just the standard news channels or television movies. By Tuesday afternoon, she'd gotten the basic idea of what sorts of programs were shown on each channel.

"Booth."

"Hey, Booth," her voice came through the speakers of his cell phone carrying an unmistakable note of excitement. "Have you ever seen the Discoverer's Channel?"

"Discovery Channel," he corrected automatically, sitting with his feet up on the desk in his office at the Hoover building. His expression suddenly changed to interest, and he stopped tossing the hacky sack into the air. "Wait, Bones, did you get a TV."

"Well, yes, I was weighing the pros and cons and I decided that, for instances like this, it would be a worthy investment." Booth's laughter came through from the other end.

"Way to go!" he said, "so, I gotta ask, what kind did you get?"

"Why is that important?"

"I'm curious. Humor me."

"They call it a flat panel, it's a Samsung, with liquid crystal display."

"Is it big?"

"35 inches," she said, grinning into the receiver. "High-definition capabilities."

Booth was speechless at the other end.

"You have a better TV than me," he said in disbelief. "Unbelievable. Well, Bones, it looks like I will be visiting you a lot more now that I don't have to worry about having to listen to the Tibetan Throat Singers."

"You're more than welcome. There are still some finer points of how to work the controls that I still need to figure out."

"Are you really inviting me over? Because, you know, I usually invite myself." She considered this for a moment, unintentionally trying to pause the program she had been watching. When it worked, she was surprised.

"Hey, the program just paused! Right in the middle! This television thing is really quite fascinating."

"She has DVR, too," Booth muttered, more to himself than to Brennan.

"What?"

"Nothing, Bones. You didn't answer my question." She nodded, moistening her lips.

"Sure," she said with a gentle smile that he couldn't see. "I could use the company." Booth's face split into a wide grin.

"Great! I'll bring food. What are you in the mood for?"

"That's really not necessary, I have food here."

"No, Bones, it's the least I can do. Besides, you need to eat. No arguments. I'll grab something and see you around 7:30, okay?"

"Sounds perfect. Thanks, Booth."

"See you later."

And with a click, she hung up the phone.

By seven o'clock, she had taken a shower and pulled on a pair of yoga pants and a tank top and was again curled up in her favorite chair, reading, awaiting Booth's arrival. She was eager for the company and was not disappointed when, at 7:20, her doorbell rang and she stood to answer it.

Brennan grinned inadvertently when she saw her partner's upper body through the peephole in the door before sliding back the deadbolt to let him into the apartment.

"Hey, Bones," he greeted, setting the takeout down on her kitchen table.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked as she retrieved two plates and the necessary utensils from various kitchen cabinets.

"I'll just grab a glass of water," he said, shooting her a silent look discouraging unnecessary movement, to which she responded by rolling her eyes. "You want one, too?"

"Yeah, sure. So what did you bring?" she asked with a note of curiosity as she began to unfold the edge of the large paper bag. Booth reached for two glasses and began to plunk ice cubes into them, his back toward her.

"Baked pasta primavera and garlic bread," he said, giving her a silly grin and handing a glass of water to her. "I know you prefer the marinara, but tomato-based sauces are too acidic for a sensitive stomach." Brennan gave a small laugh as Booth pulled open the bag and retrieved the container of pasta.

"Nicely done," she said, pulling out the garlic bread and putting a piece on each of their plates. Booth doled out large portions of the steaming pasta and vegetables onto each plate, his brow furrowing slightly at her comment.

"What's nicely done?"

"Your reasoning. Very scientific."

"You saying I sound like a squint?" he asked, acting playfully offended. Brennan rolled her eyes and took her seat at the table.

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Hey, I'm a cop," he said defensively, joining her in sitting.

"Your behavior driven by your environment and society at large, it's perfectly acceptable to begin to emulate the speech patterns and mannerisms of those with whom you spend your time."

"I'm going to hire a translator."

"You're starting to think like a scientist because you've been spending so much time with us."

"Gotcha." He savored a forkful of the delicious pasta with an audible "Mmmm."

The pasta looked delicious. Perfect, really, and Brennan knew that no matter how much she lacked an appetite, it would be good to eat. So she speared a few rotini noodles on the end of her fork and began to eat.

"Good choice with the pasta, Booth," she said honestly. "It's excellent." He smiled at the compliment.

"Thank you," he grinned, taking a sip from his water glass. "I told you that I have good taste."

"I never said that you didn't." She took another bite of the pasta primavera. She savored the rich, creamy sauce and the pasta noodles, and had a suspicion as to why Booth had chosen pasta rather than their usual Thai food.

"So how are you holding up?" Booth asked, his expression suddenly serious. He set down his fork and looked at her intently, his eyes warm and understanding.

"I'm fine, Booth," she said. "A little tired, and definitely not happy about being cut out of fieldwork, but fine." She willed honesty into her eyes and she hoped that Booth could see that she was being truthful. He nodded slowly, turning his attention back to the meal.

"You'll be back to normal soon, Bones," he said with assurance, and she felt as though he was speaking more to himself than to her. She looked up and smiled at him.

"I know."

The rest of the meal was finished as Booth filled her in on the events of the week.. Brennan's stomach was tolerant of the pasta, for which she was grateful. Booth insisted that she keep the leftovers, tucking them into her refrigerator. They cleaned the dishes and the table like they had been doing this for years, working smoothly and never stumbling over each other.

"So, where's that new TV of yours?" He asked when they had finished. She watched in smug satisfaction as he admired her choice of television, and pretended to listen when he requested to watch the baseball game.

She chose the Discovery Channel instead. He complained playfully and eventually settled on the couch beside her for the special on the aurora borealis.

The trill of his cell only twenty minutes later pulled him from his seat and he answered. Brennan tried not to let her face fall visibly at the apologetic look on his face when the phone conversation ended.

"What is it?"

"I've gotta go," he said as she rose to her feet. "We've—there's a case. I have to be at the crime scene." He swallowed hard, but her face showed only kind understanding.

"Okay," she said. "Thanks for the meal and the company." Booth nodded, his eyes shifting ever so slightly out of nerves.

"Talk to you tomorrow?"

"I probably won't be back into the lab until Thursday."

"Okay... if you need anything, call me. You take care, Bones."

"I will," she said, swallowing to try to rid herself of the lump in her throat. At the door, he turned back towards her.

"You know I hate this, right?"

"Hate what?"

"This," he gestured vaguely. "Going out to a crime scene without you." She said nothing, made no movements. She simply looked at him, watching with painful understanding.

"Go," she said gently, her voice prodding him, carefully void of emotion. "It's your job. I'll be back out in the field soon enough." With an almost guilty look back and a hurried good-bye, he disappeared through the door. She watched him go, sliding the deadbolt closed behind her partner.

Brennan felt a silent tear slide down her cheek, but quickly brushed it away with the back of her wrist. This was stupid, she thought. Booth was just doing his job, just as she would have done, with or without him. She truly did understand.

But still, she was alone again. Not really wanting to think about the now vacant seat on her couch, she curled up and unintentionally fell asleep to the quiet murmur of the television set.

* * *

Clicking the 'save' button on her laptop computer, Brennan sat back in her chair, a satisfied smile crossing over her face.

Finally, her book was complete. At least, the rough manuscript was complete. She would read it through again and make the necessary changes before mailing the whole thing to her editor, but for now, she sighed in relief.

"Good morning, Bren," Angela said from the doorway to her office, smiling at the sight of her friend.

"Hey, Ange." Angela came into the office and set a file folder down on her desk.

"You look happy."

"I just finished the rough draft of my next book."

"Oooh," Angela said, her eyes twinkling excitedly. "Are we in this one, too?"

"You weren't in the last two."

"Uh huh," she said sarcastically, earning an eye roll from her friend. "Anyway, how have you been feeling?"

"I'm extremely relieved to be back in the lab. How have things been around here?"

"Oh, you know," Angela said, waving her hand carelessly in the air and sitting on the edge of Brennan's desk. "Maggots eating eyeballs, the two stooges setting things on fire, lots of bones, the usual. I'm glad you're back, though. Hodgins and Zack tend to be more under control when you're around. Booth has been threatening to shoot them and, frankly, I can understand where he's coming from."

"So what's up? We have a case?"

"Yeah, I'll fill you in on the details while Cam is finishing up with the remaining tissue."

"Sound good."

"Oh, and by the way," Angela said, scrunching her nose slightly, "the Jeffersonian's annual meet-and-greet with the donors is the second week of July." Brennan frowned.

"That's not for another two months!" Angela shrugged.

"Cam wanted to make absolutely certain that we had no excuses not to go. We have plenty of time now to mark it on our social calendars. Zippety doo dah."

"Great," Brennan said bitterly. "I hate these silly things."

"It's just a party. And at least we'll all be there."

"I suppose so. So, tell me about this case."

It was a difficult one, a child whose body had been found by a group of teenagers high on methamphetamines, buried at the edge of a playground, dead no more than a week. Brennan would have to look to determine age, but Cam's estimate was four to six years. Mongoloid features suggested that the child had suffered from Down's syndrome.

Yet, as with all of the others, she reassembled the skeleton when it came time, finding comfort in her empirical process, focusing on the details of each anomaly. She picked up the skull, turning it over carefully in her hands, examining staining on the inside of the temporal bone.

"Cause of death?" Cam asked, approaching her quickly from behind.

"It appears to have been a subdural hematoma in the temporal lobe, congruent with trauma to the skull. I'm going to hand the skull off to Hodgins to pull trace elements and see if we can get a murder weapon."

"Where is Zack?"

"Running DNA to confirm trisomy 21. Down's syndrome."

"I know what trisomy 21 is, Dr. Brennan, and there's no need. I've already done that."

"Excellent, then he can start categorizing anomalies when he gets back from modular skeletal storage."

"What's Zack doing in Limbo?" Cam asked curiously, watching as Brennan set the skull down in place on the examination table.

"Updating the inventory from the most recent set of remains that I identified. He should be back soon." Brennan straightened up, a hand on her hip. "Do you need anything else?"

"No, thanks. Let me know what Hodgins finds."

"I will. I'll be here with my latest World War II remains."

"Great. It's good to have you back."

"I'm relieved to be back. Thanks, Cam."

The two women shared a cursory smile before Cam retreated off of the platform. Picking up the small, fragile skull in her hands, Brennan crossed to find Hodgins at his work station and hand it to him.

As she returned to her own unidentified remains, she couldn't help but think that this was the most at home she had felt all week.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed!

Don't forget to review. Thanks for being great readers!


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: If you recognize it from somewhere other than this story, I don't own it. So don't try to sue me.

* * *

If I Should Fall—Chapter 19

* * *

Friday arrived bright and clear, finding Brennan again in her office poring over the current case file on the floor, papers spread out methodically around her. She squinted at an X-ray, holding it up to the light for a better look.

A quick rapping on the door interrupted, and she whipped her head around to see Zack.

"Dr. Brennan, I have a lead on a possible murder weapon. Angela is working up a scenario over in the Holographics lab now."

"Great, thanks Zack. I'll be over in a minute." Zack nodded from the doorway and turned to leave the room. Brennan looked back at the X-rays and began to gather the papers into the file, hurriedly sorting them. She plunked the file down on her desk and was almost to the door when her phone rang.

She rushed back to her desk and answered the call.

"Brennan."

"Dr. Brennan?" a familiar male voice questioned from the other end of the call.

"Yes?"

"This is Dr. Laskey." Brennan nodded into the receiver, now understanding why his voice had seemed familiar. She cleared her throat tentatively.

"Good morning, Dr. Laskey. What can I do for you?" She sank into her chair and rested her other arm on the desk.

"I wanted to let you know that your lab results are back from the testing we did last week."

She wanted to say something, but found herself momentarily breathless, so her doctor continued.

"I wanted to call you myself," he continued. She swallowed and found her voice.

"May I inquire about the results?" she asked. Her fingertips gripped the top of her desk with unnecessary force. They were beginning to turn white. She forced herself to release the pressure, instead balling her hand up into a fist.

"As far as I can tell from your MRI and the bloodwork," he said, "You're all clear."

"All clear." She repeated, hardly daring to believe it.

"No signs of cancer whatsoever. I have cancelled your appointment for chemotherapy treatment tomorrow. It won't be necessary. I would like to make an appointment to see you for another MRI evaluation three weeks from now, but for now I want you to relax. Take some time and energy to fully recover and get back to your normal life."

"Th—thank you," she said, unable to contain the simultaneous disbelief and jubilation in her voice. "Thank you so much, Dr. Laskey."

"You are quite welcome, Temperance," he said. "I'll see you in three weeks. Best of luck with everything."

The click on the other line told her that he had hung up the phone. Still as if she was in a daze, her phone still in her hand, she felt two silent tears run down her cheeks.

It was over. All of it was over.

It was as if a huge weight had been lifted from her chest, and she allowed the intoxicating wave of relief wash over her. Breathing felt too easy now, and another tear streamed sown her cheek. She just sat, frozen in her seat, the receiver of the telephone still clutched in her hand.

Footfalls outside of her office startled her out of her reverie and she wiped her eyes quickly before turning toward the door. It was Booth, leaning against the doorframe, tossing his poker chip into the air before catching it and slipping it back into his pocket.

The carefree expression on his face fell when he saw her eyes, clear blue and bright with tears.

"Bones, you okay?" he asked, concerned. She fumbled with the phone, setting it back on the receiver. "Who were you talking to?"

"My neurooncologist just called."

"Laskey?"

"Yeah," she said, her voice wavering.

Her hands were shaking, but she couldn't seem to control the tremors. She pushed herself up so that she was standing, out of her seat now. Their eyes connected, his filled with concern and he took a few steps cautiously toward her.

"I'm clear," she told him, a grin blossoming over her face, though she could not stop two more tears from spilling over and making straight paths down her cheeks.

"No more cancer?" Booth asked tentatively.

Brennan shook her head and gave a relieved laugh through her tears. They beamed at each other and he laughed, too.

It would have been impossible to tell who hugged whom first. Brennan breathed deeply, allowing herself to let out a deep, cleansing sigh of relief in Booth's arms. He held her for a few moments before they pulled back from the joyful, tender embrace. Booth was grinning from ear to ear, and he laughed when another thought crossed his mind.

"See, I'm always right," he said, still beaming.

"What are you talking about?" She asked, blinking up at him through tear-laced lashes, which she quickly dried with her hands.

"I told you that you would beat this thing." Brennan had never been so glad to be proven wrong.

They shared a soul-searching smile and an unspoken feeling of triumph.

And then, unexpectedly, before she knew quite what she was doing, she tilted her chin up and leaned forward, gently kissing Booth's cheek. She pulled back with a smile, a gentle flush rising to her cheeks.

"Thank you, Booth, for everything." She said quietly.

Booth looked taken aback, his cheek still tingling from the feel of her lips on his skin. He tried to smile back, still stunned by the openness of Brennan's affection. She laughed softly at his expression.

"I—I didn't do anything," he stammered, searching her face.

"You stayed with me," she said honestly. "That means more than I can say."

All he could do was nod. She said something about going to find Angela, quickly drying her eyes again and hurrying out of the room. Booth still stood, rooted to the spot. He brought his hand to his cheek and gingerly touched the place where Brennan had kissed him. Smiling, he dashed out of the office to catch up with her.

Together, they entered Angela's office, where she was busy programming something into what Booth still called her holographic crystal ball. Angela looked up to see them both standing there, Brennan's eyes imperceptibly pink and puffy from crying, and Booth still grinning. She looked from one partner to the other and gave a shriek. Zack, who had been standing beside her, jumped.

"Did you—?" she asked, looking from Brennan to Booth. Brennan rolled her eyes.

"Of course not."

"Then why—"

"My doctor just called to tell me that I am free of cancer. What do you have here, Ange?"

Angela shrieked again and nearly jumped into the air, hurriedly setting her electronic notepad down on a nearby table and swept her best friend up into a hug, grinning.

"I'm so glad, sweetie," she said, pulling back from the embrace only to hug her again a second later. Brennan laughed.

"Ange, I'm not going anywhere. But our murderer might if we don't get this case solved soon, so I'd really like to see the scenarios that you have come up with."

* * *

For the first time in a long time, she didn't have to spend her Saturday evening incapacitated in Hodgins' house. Instead, she found herself sitting in a leather chair in Dr. Sweets' office, Booth sitting in his own chair beside her.

Sweets had again given them grief for not showing up for their usual session, but as it was due to illness he had no choice but to swallow his comments and reschedule. So there they sat, the three of them, fresh out of their latest role-playing endeavor.

Stupid hats, Booth thought bitterly. God only knows what kind of nutcases had worn them previously, the thought of disease…he rolled his eyes.

It was the part of the session where they sat in complete silence, Sweets looking between them and on occasion making notes on his legal pad.

Booth hated this part. And Brennan knew it, but tonight, she said nothing.

"So," Sweets said slowly and deliberately, "any specific issues rise to the surface this week? Remember, this is a—"

"Truth zone, yes, we get it Sweets," Booth said in a wry tone, waving his hand as if dismissing the comment.

"You seem very hostile."

"Well, there are places I'd rather be on a Saturday night than sitting in your little playroom and playing dress-up." Sweets and Brennan both looked at him, Brennan giving an almost inaudible chuckle. She was used to this sort of outburst by now. For a guy who put so much stock in psychology, he showed a definite avulsion to their time with Sweets.

"Dr. Brennan?" Sweets questioned. "What's funny?"

"Based on your behavior, you're going to interrogate Booth to find out what his usual Saturday evening activities would consist of. You are extremely predictable."

"That's exactly the trajectory of this conversation, well predicted," Sweets said in an annoyingly superior tone, folding his hands on his desk and looking at Booth expectantly.

"Okay," Booth said through gritted teeth. "Tonight, the Pirates are playing the Mets. I had plans to watch the game."

"With whom?"

"An old buddy of mine from the army."

"You're lying, Agent Booth."

"I am not. I wanted to watch the baseball game with an old friend. What's wrong with that?"

"What does 'Mets' stand for?" Brennan interjected curiously.

"Metropolitans," both Booth and Sweets answered simultaneously.

"Oh."

It was lucky that Booth's phone chose that moment to ring, because otherwise the conversation may have become unbearable for all of them. Glaring (Brennan thought unnecessarily) at Sweets, Booth flipped his phone open and answered the call.

"Booth… Where?..." Brennan strained to try to hear bits of the conversation that slipped though the phone's speakers, but without success. "We'll be right there." He hung up the phone and stood quickly. He motioned to Brennan, who followed suit.

"Where are you going?"

"Yeah, where _are_ we going?"

"We," Booth said with a glance at his partner. "Have a case."

Try as he might, Sweets knew that he would be unable to stop them from leaving, so he simply waved them out of the office with a promise for another, longer session the following week, to which both Booth and Brennan rolled their eyes.

"Okay, Bones, here's the rundown," Booth said as they got into the SUV and buckled their seatbelts. "Local PD in Falls Church found a body in a dumpster behind a movie theater, so we're gonna zip over there and see what we've got."

"I'll need to swing by my lab for my kit."

"I know, that's where we're headed now." He pulled out of the garage at a speed that Brennan found unnecessary.

"Why are we going so fast?"

"Because I know how you get when you think your remains are at risk of being compromised."

"Can we turn on the siren?" Booth threw a sideways glance, amused, at his partner and chuckled.

"Have at it."

"What?"

"Yes, go for it, bombs away." Grinning, Brennan flipped the switch and the lights and siren came to life.

* * *

They arrived at the Jeffersonian in record time and Booth promised to wait while she ran into the lab and grabbed her forensics kit. Nodding, she hopped out of the vehicle and walked at a brisk pace into the lab. A few minutes later, she was dashing around her office and gathering her things when she looked up and saw Angela leaning in the doorframe.

"Ange, what are you doing here? It's a Saturday night, shouldn't you be pumping and winding at a club somewhere?" Angela scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"It's bumping and grinding, sweetie. Urban dictionary it."

"What?"

"Never mind. What brings you here? I thought you and Booth were at therapy." She was grinning, almost smirking. Brennan scrutinized her friend's face for clues, but her skills at reading minutia of facial expressions still left quite a lot to be desired.

"We have a case."

"It's Saturday night!"

"People still get murdered on the weekends."

"Geez, Bones, come on!" Booth explained, appearing at her door beside Angela. The two of them exchanged grins. Brennan straightened up, her arms across her chest.

"Okay, what's going on? I said I'd meet you at the car, Booth."

"No need," he said, dismissing the comment with a wave of his hand. "Come on, change of plans," he said, gesturing her to follow them. "We have to go upstairs to get something from Cam first."

"What's going on?"

"Do you trust us?" Angela asked.

"Yes, what's going on?"

"Seriously, Bones, time is slipping away from us." Booth put his hands on her shoulders and began to steer her up the metal staircase. They weren't going to Cam's office, she realized a fraction of a second too late. They were heading for—

"SURPRISE!"

There, in the lounge area, was everyone. Zack, Cam, and Hodgins were all there, wearing silly conical paper hats and throwing confetti like children. Classic rock music was playing from one of the nearby computers, and the table was neatly spread with a variety of food.

"What's going on?"

"This," Angela said with a wide, sweeping gesture, "is your 'I kicked the crap out of cancer and don't have to deal with it anymore' party."

"But the case," she said, whirling around and looking at Booth, confused. He smirked at her, and she smacked his arm playfully. "Booth! You faked a case to get out of Sweets' session?"

"No, sweetie," Angela said, "He faked a case to get you to come here. For your party."

"Which we planned," Zack put in, looking proud of himself.

"We knew that you'd never do something like this on your own, so we took the initiative and threw it together for you," Cam told her, handing more of the garish paper hats to the newcomers.

"You lied to me?" she asked Booth, her emotions borderline angry.

"It was for a good cause," he said, charm smile in full force.

"It's just a party. Solving murders is more important."

"I just told you, there is no case."

"Just relax, Dr. Brennan," Hodgins said from the other end of the table. "You deserve it."

"Come on, even Zack helped to plan this one," Angela said. "Just enjoy the friends and the food and the frivolity of it all."

"Impressive alliteration," Cam said from the corner of the table.

With encouraging smiles from Booth and Angela, she rolled her eyes and donned the bright green party hat.

That night, surrounded by friends and colleagues that had become her family, she laughed and drank champagne from test tubes and ate delectable slices of triple-chocolate cheesecake. She even danced a little to the music that played over the radio and was an enthusiastic participant when Hodgins suggested that they play a game called Spoons, a fast-paced, raucous card game that often resulted in the players diving across the table to scramble to grab a spoon from a pile and avoid being eliminated from the game.

An hour and a half later found them all pleasantly full of cheesecake and champagne. Angela and Hodgins were dancing to a slow song that played over the radio, while at the other end of the table, Cam was making a phone call and Booth was teaching Zack a thing or two about how to play poker.

Brennan quietly excused herself, silently slipping down the stairs and away from her friends, the closest people she had to true family. She wandered for several minutes and found herself on the balcony on the floor above the platform, half a flight of stairs above the lounge where the party was taking place. She and Booth had spoken so many times on this balcony, bouncing ideas off of each other and watching as the rest of the team worked on the platform, analyzing crucial bits of evidence for one case or another.

She stood now just as she had all of those other times, leaning forward onto her forearms, her hands interlocked, just observing from a distance. She was an anthropologist. Always observing without leaving an impression on the culture being studied. That was the first rule. Never make an impact.

Cam had hung up her phone now and was chatting jovially with Zack and Booth. Cam, who had arrived at the lab unbeknownst to her and became her boss seemingly overnight. The coroner and cop from DC, an ex-lover of Booth's who had similar beliefs regarding relationships and children as Brennan herself. Over time, she had grown to truly appreciate that Cam was a part of the team, as a bridge between emotion and scientific rationale. Although after the Ramos case she wasn't sure that she could trust Cam fully to be honest and just in her methodology, the ex-cop from New York was working toward the right end.

Hodgins still held Angela in his arms. She hadn't predicted that pairing, but knew that Hodgins had long harbored affection for her best friend. The brilliant entomologist and conspiracy theorist often grew fiery with passion, whether he was talking about _chirodibidae_ or Angela or the Area 51 cover-up. Not to mention that he had graciously, generously allowed her to stay at his house during the lowest times of her illness. For that, she would always be grateful. Brennan had been glad to watch him take Zack under his wing over the years, the two of them racing beetles and burning spam and feeding frozen pigs through wood chippers.

And Zack, who tried so hard to fit into mainstream society, and often failed, that Brennan's heart ached for him. She loved him, they all did, like the awkward little brother who was simply trying to grow his own set of wings to fly from the nest. In him she had seen so much genius, potential, and drive to learn that she had been happy to take him on as her graduate student. Now, as she watched Booth try to teach him how to play poker, she hoped that the day was drawing nearer that he would be able to integrate himself socially. He was her protégé and knew Brennan knew that one day it was entirely possible that his knowledge would surpass hers, and she smiled at the thought. Her student was someone that she respected immensely for his rationed empiricism, sheer genius and passion for knowledge. Though he still had much to learn, she was unspeakably proud of all that he had accomplished, how much he had grown since that first interview.

Angela, her best friend, was now seated beside Booth at the table. Brennan couldn't express the gratitude she felt toward the artist, always trying to push her emotional boundaries to get her to have fun every once in a while. She was perceptive, emotional, whimsical; more or less Brennan's polar opposite. She had been surprised when the two of them became such fast friends, and looking back she wasn't sure what her life would have been like without her. But Angela had given her some of the best advice she had ever received, and her emotional insight had often taken Brennan by surprise. And she was always there, always by her side to help her to connect with her emotions, especially through this illness. She took care of her through it all, through all of the anger and the sadness and the pain and frustration, and she somehow didn't think that she could ever find the words to thank Angela for everything she had done for her.

Brennan lowered herself to the cold steel of the balcony, putting her legs through the gaps in the railing and allowing them to dangle over the edge. She let out a sigh.

She watched Booth stand and stretch, Angela smacking him playfully on the arm.

Booth. He had taught her so much through the course of their partnership together, about faith and honor and loyalty and what it meant to be in a truly open, trusting relationship. They were so different, but what Sweets had said was true. They completed each other, in every way. He had given her family back to her, though not in the most orthodox manner, her whole family. He'd showed her how to keep the memory of her mother alive. With him, she'd been able to leave the lab and experience the people behind the crimes that she saw every day. He restored her belief in trust, and it was because of him that she began to think that maybe, just maybe, not everybody leaves.

And through everything, absolutely everything that they watched each other go through, their relationship held strong, endured, and grown. He knew her better than anyone, and she had the feeling that she knew him just as well. They knew the darkest parts of each other's pasts, the worst corners of their minds, and that intimate trust had forged a bond between them that neither would take for granted. Brennan knew that whatever the challenge, they would hold.

Unconditionally.

After all, they were the center.

She looked around, startled, when another person slid down beside her on the platform. Before she could do a quick head count to see who was missing from the platform, she looked over and saw that Hodgins was sitting beside her. He spoke before she had the chance.

"You wrote to him." It was a statement, not a question. He looked over at her and she made out his face in the low light. She saw that he was smiling.

"Care to clarify?" she asked, carefully tugging off her party hat.

"When we were buried. I wrote to Angela, remember? On the page that I tore out of your book. Right before you filleted my legs."

"Oh," was all that she could say. The syllable was uttered quietly, almost more of a sigh. But she knew he was right. "Did you ever give your letter to Angela?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I threw it out."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to tell her myself, all of the things that I said in that letter. I didn't want it to be like that, to let those emotions go unsaid until it was too late."

"I don't know what that means."

"I think that you do, Dr. Brennan," Hodgins continued. "We both got another chance to resolve the uncertainties of our lives. I don't know if it was God or fate or sheer luck, you can look at it however you want. When I look back? I saw an opportunity."

Brennan remained quiet, processing his words.

"Maybe it was a chance for you and Angela, Hodgins, but with all due respect I don't believe in God or in Fate. I don't think I can pull a deeper meaning out of a simple chain of events."

"What did you do with your letter?" he asked her after a moment. She was quiet. She knew exactly what had happened with her letter.

"I…I kept it," she admitted. "Right before I had the surgery to take out the tumor, I rewrote it. And now, I will probably rewrite it again and throw out the old one, like I did the last time." Hodgins nodded, staying quiet. Several moments slipped past as they watched Cam leave the lounge.

"I should go," he said, "But before I do, I want to say two things. The first is this: you are operating under the assumption that you are the one who will be leaving that letter behind. What if something happens to Booth first?"

Brennan blinked, taken aback. She hadn't thought of that. Hodgins used the bars of the railing to pull himself up into standing position, the soft lights barely illuminating his face.

"What—what's the second thing?"

"It's just a simple point of interest. The Chinese use the same character for the words 'danger' and 'opportunity.' Just something to remember." He smiled at her and turned, footsteps reverberating slightly on the metal.

He left her staring over at Angela, Zack and Booth sitting in the lounge, the remnants of the small celebration cleaned up. It took only a second for her to set her jaw and get to her feet. She swallowed, moistening her lips and started across the balcony and down the stairs.

She would open the letter tonight and reread it. One last time. The words that she had been trying to articulate for so long.

But then she would destroy it.

One situation.

Danger and opportunity.

* * *

There you have it, kids! That's all she wrote.

Thank you so much for sticking with it.

This chapter was longer, because it's the last one in the plotline of this story.

However, don't you fret, there will be one more, a follow-up of sorts. I'm not sure when I'll be posting that, probably in a couple of days.

I truly hope that you have had fun reading this story, because I have had a blast writing it.

Thanks again!

Please remember to review!


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: If you recognize it from somewhere other than this story, I don't own it. So don't try to sue me.

Author's Note: This chapter takes place nearly two months later. At this point, all of the events of season 3 have occurred, everything in BitB, VitS, WitW, and PitH. And, despite her earlier resolve, Brennan and Booth still haven't had that talk.

* * *

If I Should Fall—Chapter 20

* * *

"Hey, Hodgins, is Bones in her office?"

"Yeah, she should be," Hodgins replied, not taking his eyes from the lenses of the microscope that he peered into. Booth nodded and thanked Hodgins, stepping off of the platform and making a beeline for Brennan's office.

"Bones, I need you," he called out through her open door as he made his way across the room. "Could you sign off on—" he stopped abruptly when he stepped into her office.

His partner was fast asleep, curled up on her couch. He exhaled softly and stepped toward her. Her face was serene, gently illuminated by the lights of her office, but even in sleep her strong will and independence shone through. The hair of the wig that she wore, that looked so much like her own hair, had parted at the base of her neck and now fell just beneath her jawline. And no matter how many accidental glimpses Booth had of the raised, pink scar that ran along the base of her skull, it still sent the smallest of shivers through his spine. It would be a permanent reminder to her, and he hated the thought of that.

He watched the subtle, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest and was content to simply sit and watch her sleep. Kneeling beside her, he gently swept a strand of hair away from her face, his fingers brushing her cheek so softly that he thought maybe he'd imagined the contact.

He stood again. He didn't want to be looming when she woke. Shifting the file into his left hand, he extended his right and rested it softly on her shoulder, rubbing it gently to rouse her from her slumber.

"Hey, Bones," he said gently. With a start, her eyes flew open and she sat up on the couch.

"I'm awake," she said, her bright eyes alert and focused. "What's up, Booth?"

"I, uh, needed your signature on the paperwork," he brandished the file, "from the Kortowksi case." She ran a hand through her hair to smooth it and stood to retrieve a pen from her desk. Booth handed her the file and she flipped through the pages, embellishing the designated spaces with her signature.

"Okay, it's all signed," she said, closing the file and handing it back to him. "Sorry I was asleep, I must have dozed off…"

"Eh," he shrugged, "It's not a problem. You excited for the banquet?" Brennan scoffed, and they shared a smile. "Aw, come on, Bones, you get to get all gussied up, drink champagne, and try to avoid getting your feet stepped on when all of the old, rich guys try to dance with you," Booth said, chuckling at the look of utter revulsion on his partner's face. She typed something into her computer and glanced at the screen, nearly jumping out of her seat.

"I have to go," she said suddenly, hurriedly gathering her purse and a thick manila envelope from her desk. "Thank you for waking me. See you tomorrow?"

"Wait, where are you going? Your banquet is in an hour and a half." She headed out of her office, walking at such a brisk pace that he almost had to jog to keep up with her.

"I have somewhere I need to be. Don't worry, I will be back in time."

* * *

It was hardly 20 minutes later that Brennan was traversing the halls of the hospital, made familiar by all of the time that she had spent here throughout the course of her illness. She couldn't help but stop and stare for a moment into the room in which she had spent those grueling afternoons, seeing now that an elderly man occupied the bed that she had once slept in. She tore her gaze away and started off again before he could notice her stare.

A minute later she was knocking cautiously at the door of another patient. The colorfully decorated nametag told her that the girl had never left. A soft affirmation from inside prompted her to push the door open. Clara beamed at the unexpected visitor.

"Dr. Brennan?"

"Hi, Clara," she said, smiling at the preteen, who wore an electric blue, crocheted cap. "Nice hat."

"Thanks, I made it. Your hair grow back already?" Brennan shook her head, explaining that she had purchased a wig.

"How have you been?" Clara shrugged.

"Oh, you know, same old thing. Still studying… there's not much else to do around here. At this rate I'll be able to get my diploma by January," she gave a small laugh. "So if you're in the clear, then why are you back in this hellhole?"

"I thought that if you needed something to do," Brennan said, extracting the heavy manila envelope from her oversized bag, "you could take a look at this and let me know what you think." She handed the small package over to the girl, who looked at it curiously. She looked toward Brennan for confirmation before carefully opening the envelope and sliding out the thick stack of paper. "I know it's late, but happy belated birthday."

"No way," she gasped in awe, her eyes wide with jubilant disbelief. "No way," she repeated.

"Yes, way," Brennan said with a small laugh, remembering that this was supposed to be the correct response. Booth had told her that once. "I just made the revisions recommended by my editor."

"This is—why did you—wow. Just…wow." Brennan grinned at the girl's reaction. Her brown eyes were alight, sparkling with glee.

"If you could look it over, I'd love your feedback," she said honestly. Clara beamed over at her in disbelief. "Just as long as you do not utter a word or inference to anyone before it comes out."

"I wouldn't dream of it." She couldn't stop smiling.

"Anyway, I have to run…there's somewhere I need to be, but I thought that would keep you busy for a while. I'll be around next Saturday morning for an MRI, so I will try to stop by."

"Awesome. I'll get started on this right away. I can't begin to thank you enough, Dr. Brennan."

"You're welcome, Clara."

* * *

It was a beautiful banquet, set up in the grand atrium of the museum. The chandelier glistened in its own soft light overhead, and smooth jazz filled the room, mixing with the chatter of the attendees. Tables draped in fine, navy blue linens and set with silver candlesticks framed a paneled dance floor, and groups of well-dressed men and women were clustered in small groups.

Brennan sat alone at one of the tables, nursing a glass of champagne that she had received from one of the uniformed wait staff. Her eyes drifted toward the dance floor, where Angela had been asked to dance by one of the donors and Cam had been beckoned into conversation on the other side of the room.

She didn't want to be there, she thought, taking another conservative sip from her glass. As usual, Hodgins had refused to go, and with Zack gone now, the last thing that Brennan wanted to do was make small talk with donors who simply wanted to rub elbows with a scientist.

The song ended and shortly thereafter, Angela joined her at the table, an expression of distaste in her eyes as she sat, crossing her legs and re-draping the soft, burgundy satin of her dress smoothly over her knees.

"Having fun?" Brennan asked wryly, raising an eyebrow and turning to face her friend.

"Ugh, please don't let that happen again. That guy was a skeezeball."

"I don't know what that means, but I'm guessing nothing good." Angela nodded fervently, grabbing her own flute of champagne from a passing waiter and taking a swig.

"What have you been up to?"

"Just sitting around, trying very hard to avoid conversation." Angela shrugged.

"It can't be that bad," she said. "At least nobody is trying to make you dance."

"Not since that man from the Pure Research. And we did have a decent conversation up until he tried to get a little too close."

"You didn't break his wrist, did you?"

"No, but I made it quite clear that he would be losing more than his wrist if he tried anything else with me. Things were slightly awkward after that."

"You can't blame him," Angela said with a smirk. "You look hot. Making you buy that dress was a really good decision."

Brennan's dress, cream-colored, knee-length, and strapless, was a recent acquisition condoned by Angela earlier that week, when she had coerced her friend into a shopping trip. With some careful manipulation by Angela, her hair (well, rather, the wig, as her hair had not grown out yet) was curled, hanging gracefully around her shoulders. The scar at the back of her head was healing, but the pink, raised tissue would still draw unwanted attention.

"Speaking of hot," Angela continued. "Where's Booth?"

"It's a Thursday night, so he's probably working."

"Tell me again why he couldn't come to this shindig?"

"He's neither an employee at the Jeffersonian nor a donor," Brennan said, "besides, being at something like this would want to make him take out his gun and shoot something. And I wouldn't blame him," she muttered the last bit under her breath.

"Well, what about that time that you went with him to the FBI banquet?"

"I only went because his date cancelled last minute. I was being a good friend."

"Uh huh," she said, disbelief evident in her voice. Brennan was about to open her mouth and make a retort, but two men passed by their table, their conversation audible.

"…the young Dr. Addy. You know, the one who insisted upon incinerating spam and throwing pigs through woodchippers."

"Yes, he was quite off-kilter, got himself involved in cannibalistic murders and thrown into a mental institution," the other man was saying. "Good riddance, I say."

"Makes you wonder how on earth someone like that could be hired in the first place…"

Their conversation grew faint as the men moved away from where Angela and Brennan sat. The two women sat in the stunned silence in the wake, and when Angela looked up at her best friend, she saw that her jaw was clenched in anger.

"Come on, sweetie, let's get some air." She reached out, but Brennan shook her hand free of her arm and stood abruptly.

"No, Angela," she said. She swallowed hard, unwelcome memories flooding her mind. "I'm—I'm going to go outside. Please, I just need some space."

With that, Brennan stood quickly and turned on her heel, sweeping out of the hall and into the warm summer air. She breathed a sigh, walking halfway down the stairs before sitting on of the steps, looking out at the lights of the city. The soft music drifted through the open door, mixing strangely with the distant sounds of night traffic.

She hastily swallowed back the lump that had risen in her throat, the patron's words still reeling through her mind, heat rising to her cheeks and her eyes brimming with angry tears. It had hardly been a week and a half, and she didn't much care for gossip, but the betrayal that had shaken their team to the core couldn't be stopped from the rumor mill.

Even though it wasn't rational, Brennan carried a weight of guild in her chest, a certain sense of responsibility for what had happened to Zack. Maybe if she had been there more, connected a little bit, even worked to further develop his process of logical evaluation, he wouldn't have been lured into such a terrible situation. The aftermath had rebounded through the lab even now, like the aftershock of an earthquake, taking a toll on the team. Cam had become colder and more alienating toward the rest of the team, Sweets was more intrusive and intent on trying to help them get through the events, and the strain of the loss was beginning to have corrosive effects on Angela's relationship with Hodgins, though neither of them would admit it outright.

Footfalls on the stairs caused Brennan to whip around. Angela was making her way down the stairs, carefully avoiding tripping over the hem of her dress.

"Hey," she said calmly. "You left your bag inside." Angela handed Brennan the clutch purse and carefully took a seat beside her friend. A gentle breeze caught on Brennan's face and she sighed.

"Am I really that terrible a judge of character?" she asked suddenly, turning back to her best friend. Angela gave her a gentle smile before shaking her head.

"You're not a bad anything, sweetie." They shared a smile and Brennan chuckled, shifting the weight of her purse from one hand to the other.

"Booth told me that once."

"He's a smart man, Booth," Angela told her, smiling. "Well, most of the time." Brennan let out another disappointed sigh.

"I really, really wish I could have hit that guy," she said, giving Angela a small smile.

"Yeah, Bren," Angela said. "Me too." The two of them sat in silence for several minutes in the night air on the steps to the Jeffersonian before Angela gave her a hug, sensing that she needed to be alone, and disappeared back into the museum.

Brennan sat there in the quiet solitude of the night, looking out to the city. For the first time in a long time, she wished that she could see the stars through the clouds and pollution of Washington, D.C. How long she sat there, she didn't know. But the sound of a car made her look up.

The window of the SUV rolled down and Brennan squinted to see her partner's face grinning up at her.

"Need a ride?" he called out to her. She looked at him, sitting in the front seat of his vehicle with the motor running, and gave him an evaluating glance. With a quick disbelieving shake of her head, she stood and walked to the car, folding her arms over the open window.

"What are you doing here, Booth?" she asked. He shrugged.

"I'm rescuing you. Come on, I have coffee." He said, a playful note in his voice.

"I don't need to be rescued," Brennan told him matter-of-factly.

"I know that." A silence fell between them. "By the way, you look—" he paused, trying to think of an appropriate word, but came up empty. She was ineffably stunning. "You look really great."

"Now you're just trying to flatter me into coming with you," she said, though his appraisal had brought a smile to her face.

"Is it working?" he asked as she took a moment to consider him.

"If you want me to come with you," she said with a small grin, "you're going to have to unlock the door." Booth clicked the button and Brennan pulled the car door open, settling herself in the front seat and buckling her seatbelt.

They sat in comfortable silence in the car as Booth pulled away from the curb, neither speaking again until they reached the beltway.

"Where are we going?" Brennan asked him curiously as he accelerated and she watched the scenery speed past her.

"You'll see," he said playfully.

"I should really call Angela and let her know that I left."

"No need."

"I should have known," she muttered, rolling her eyes with indignation. "She called you, didn't she?" Booth's silence told her that she had guessed correctly. But Brennan was too relieved to be away from the insufferable banquet to care much where they were going.

Brennan wasn't surprised when they pulled up to the parking of the Lincoln Memorial. They stepped out of the car, each carrying a cup of coffee, and made their way up the steps of the monument, Brennan still wearing her dress and heels. It was late, and they were alone. It was nice, she thought, drawing comfort from sitting here, beside her partner, sipping the hot coffee in silence, looking out onto the blackness of the reflecting pool, its hematite surface rippling in the occasional warm breeze.

Booth looked at his partner carefully. She had been through so much in the last month and a half, from her brush with cancer, to father's murder trial and release from prison, to his being shot and his death being faked, to this final tough blow of losing Zack to a manipulative cannibal. She had been put through so much emotional turmoil, and she didn't deserve it, he knew. He sighed and took another sip of his coffee.

"How're you holding up there, Bones?"

"I'm okay." Booth nodded. "Thanks for getting me out of the banquet."

"Anytime," he said, smiling. "Angela told me what happened. Do you want to talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about. It's not like I hit the guy."

"I would have," Booth told her, the corner of his mouth turned up in a lopsided grin. Brennan gave a quiet laugh.

"That's why you're the one who tends to end up in therapy."

"Hey, now," he exclaimed, playfully pushing her upper arm. He shook his head, laughing with her. Their laughter died down quickly and his eyes sought hers out, searching them for a long time. She scanned his own for a hint of what he was looking for. He sighed.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, setting his coffee cup down beside him. Brennan held his gaze for several seconds, then blinked and turned her head away, looking out over the reflecting pool.

The summer air still enveloped them. Crickets chirped sparsely in the night and the light from the memorial cast long shadows on the steps below. A lone bicyclist rode soundlessly down the path along the reflecting pool.

Brennan sighed, not wanting to say anything. What could she say? She felt as though her world had been turned upside-down and inside-out so quickly that she had hardly been able to regain her footing between each event. And the touchstones in her life were most affected, which only posed a greater challenge and made these almost incomprehensible episodes nearly unbearable.

"Everything's changing, isn't it?" she said suddenly, her voice breaking the silence as she turned to face him, her eyes clear and inquisitive. He met her gaze.

"Yeah," he said. "It is." She nodded.

"Change is an anthropological inevitability," she said evenly. "Without it, societies would become static and the evolutionary changes necessary for the dynamism essential to allow them to thrive would cease. It was irrational for me not to anticipate a necessary amount of change."

"You know, Bones," Booth said after a minute, "I've noticed that a lot of times when you start on your anthropological ramblings, it's, uh, because you're scared."

"I don't ramble," she muttered, looking back up at him, and he nodded, not completely convinced. She exhaled deeply. "It's just—It's so much." He swallowed.

"It's okay to want to resist change. Especially with stuff that's this huge. You've survived cancer, your dad and brother are back in your life," he sighed, "Zack made his decision…" his voice trailed off.

"You died." Her voice had taken on a hard edge that he didn't like, but he should have expected this. They hadn't talked about his phony death and dramatic resurrection, not beyond assigning blame for her not being told.

"I just got shot. I didn't die, so that doesn't count." He looked back over to her and tried to give a reassuring smile, but her face remained impassive.

"You did, Booth. For two weeks, you were dead to me. It was…" She exhaled slowly, willing her trailing voice not to break. "I did cry, you know. I'm not as callous as people think." He set down his coffee cup and gently draped his arm around her shoulders, giving her upper arm a gentle, reassuring squeeze, simply letting her know that he was there.

"I never said that you were," he said softly. "I can't imagine what you went through, Bones. It was tough enough to sit in the safe house and twiddle my thumbs and not be able to pick up the phone and talk to you. I'm so sorry, and you're right. I should have told you, personally. But you're wrong." She looked up at him, a tiny furrow on her brow, and a question in her eyes. "I _do_ have true, genuine concern for you."

"I know," she said simply. "I think I've known that for a long time." They exchanged comforting smiles. He wrapped his arm more snugly around her and she allowed herself to lay her head on his shoulder, resting in his embrace.

For several minutes they sat like that, still save for the gentle rise and fall of their chests and the occasional warm summer's breeze that gently ruffled their hair.

She wanted so much to tell him, but she didn't know how, didn't know when, didn't know if she should. This was Booth, her partner, her friend, and her closest confidante. She knew that she could talk to him about anything, and he would listen. He was an incredible listener.

But she remained uncertain, a battle raging in her mind.

Booth continued to hold her, running his thumb gently up and down Brennan's upper arm. She exhaled, her head still nestled on his shoulder. She loved the ease of their relationship, and the comfortable familiarity that came with simply being together, whether they were bickering on the way to a crime scene or sharing Thai food and beer at the end of a tough day.

They just fit, like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Sweets was right. They completed each other.

They had so much to gain, but everything to lose.

Danger and opportunity.

Brennan drew a slow, shaky breath.

"Booth?"

"Yeah?"

"We'd be more than coffee." Booth did not need clarification.

"We would," he agreed. She felt him smile into her hair.

It was all that she needed to say.

And she knew that he understood.

She wanted so much to tell him everything. How she had written the letter to him over and over, but no words could ever say what she wanted to. How even though she didn't believe in a higher being she felt blessed to have him by her side always. How being around him made her feel safe enough to be unguarded, the way she had been at 15 before her life was turned upside down. How he was the truest family that she had ever known, and how grateful she was that he had remained a constant, never even thought about leaving. How she was terrified that they would lose everything that they had in their partnership.

How she couldn't logically comprehend the idea of love, and yet she had felt like a part of her died that night with her partner.

But she simply could not find the words.

And in the end, she did not need any words at all.

Booth pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head, as though testing the uncharted waters that both were navigating together. Mutely, she sighed.

"When did this happen?" she asked quietly, Booth's gentle caress still on her arm. He exhaled deeply and cleared his throat.

"I think that it happened a long time ago, Bones." He spoke softly, as though not to disturb the sense of peace that had washed over them. "When neither of us was paying attention." She chuckled softly.

"So no 'black magic' catching you in its spell?" she asked, lifting her head so she could meet his eyes, a small smirk on her face.

"You don't believe in magic."

"But you do." They shared a smile, the light from inside of the memorial gently illuminating their faces. "And you are the one who says, 'there are more things on Heaven and Earth—"

"—Than are dreamt of in your science," he finished, his grin growing wider. "Believe me yet?"

Brennan's eyes sparkled even in the half-light as she searched his warm, brown ones. What she saw, a look of sincere, unadulterated love, made her breath catch in her throat. She allowed him to gaze deeply into her own azure eyes, as he had done before, for the first time hoping that he could see his own affection reflected in them.

A small smile rose to his lips, and she couldn't help smiling herself.

"Do you trust me?" he asked softly, gazing deeply into her eyes.

"With my life."

"Would you trust me with your heart?" She gave him a tiny smile.

"It's not rational," she breathed, "but I think I already have."

Booth's eyes sparkled in the half-light as he gently reached his hand out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his touch lingering on her skin even after his hand fell away. And, slowly, as if to give the other time to pull back, they began to close the gap between them, their warm breath mingling in the cool night air.

Their lips brushed, almost cautiously, before joining at last. The kiss was slow, tender, their lips parted slightly, moving together with a sense of familiarity, as if they had been doing this for years. Subtle, unhurried, intoxicating.

Brennan's heart was racing, but for once, her brain was quiet. Feeling rather than thinking.

They pulled apart lightly, their faces still impossibly close, noses nuzzling, eyes still closed, as if opening them would make it all somehow disappear. Booth could feel his partner's breath sweeping over his lips as their breathing synchronized.

Gently, Brennan bit her bottom lip, savoring the taste of him there. At last, she opened her eyes and saw Booth gazing at her with such love and devotion that she never wanted it to end. She smiled at him and tilted her head slightly to the side.

"No," she said quietly, shaking her head slowly. "Definitely nothing like kissing my brother."

He chuckled and her smile grew wider before resting her head again on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms snugly around her. He felt her hand snake around his arms, coming to rest over his heart, her nimble fingers grazing the site of his injury.

"I'd do it again, you know," he told her. "In a heartbeat." She turned in his arms, facing him, her hand still on his solid chest.

"I wouldn't let you." They shared a smile.

"Temperance Brennan, you are truly extraordinary," he said with such honesty that a flush rose to her cheeks and her eyes dropped to the ground. He caught her chin with a gentle finger and lifted her eyes back to his. "And I love you more than you know, maybe even more than I know."

He pressed another warm, affectionate kiss to her lips. This time, their tongues met in unhurried, exploring caresses pouring out all of their unspoken emotion, faith, and absolute affection into each other as they melted into the kiss, feeling as though their heartbeats were one. When they parted, their eyes shimmered with love.

And neither could have been happier.

Booth stood suddenly, pulling her up with him as she regained tentative balance in her heels.

"Come on," he encouraged, his hand resting on the small of her back. "We have a lot to talk about." She smiled at him, their fingers intertwining between them.

"The diner?" She suggested, and he nodded, beaming at her.

"Some things," he said, "will never change."

"I don't know," she told him as they started back down the carved steps of the Lincoln Memorial. "A friend of mine once said that everything happens eventually. But I'm still not eating pie."

The night air was warm, tranquil and still. The crickets still chirped in the distance, and the onyx surface of the reflecting pool stood undisturbed. The two of them made their way back to the car, when Booth chuckled.

"Oh, Sweets is going to have a field day with this one," he laughed.

"Forget about Sweets," Brennan said, groaning, "Angela is going to be insufferable."

Booth laughed as he unlocked the doors and they climbed into the SUV.

There was no hint of awkwardness between them. Nothing but a sense of tranquility and denouement.

It was an end and a beginning.

* * *

Fin.

I'm sorry for the delay in the update, friends, but this was very, very difficult to write. I actually wrote about five different ways for this to happen, and I rewrote each of those at least twice… Please let me know what you think of the finished produce.

And again, thank you so much for sticking with me on this.

Besos!

Liria247


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